


roommates with Oikawa and Kuroo

by justafujoshi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Changing Tenses, Crack, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person, Pining, Post-Break Up, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 73,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justafujoshi/pseuds/justafujoshi
Summary: Oikawa and Kuroo are roommates in the same university. Chaos ensues. (Told from an outsider’s perspective)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 140
Kudos: 499
Collections: Recommended KuroKen Fics





	1. Room 313

**Author's Note:**

> So it all started with a headcanon of Oikawa and Kuroo meeting, because who doesn’t want these two dorks to meet? But then I had trouble deciding on whose pov to write from, so then births a male OC! 
> 
> Sato Yuma is basically a Japanese ‘John Smith’, and his purpose is being the narrator, giving a third Person’s (unbiased?) point of view on the characters. He’ll be as nondescript as possible, and certainly not shipped with any of the characters (I’m loyal to my otp like that). 
> 
> I’m trying out this more objective style of writing, and it feels a little weird so do tell me what you think. 
> 
> Pls enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Sato is roommates with a best 8 national team player and the best setter in Miyagi, and they both happened to be tall, handsome and charismatic. Is it possible for Sato to feel any more inferior?

‘Room 313: Oikawa, Kuroo, Sato’, reads the nameplate.

Sato slips the key card into the holder. The door beeps, and Sato walks in.

A small genkan greets him, followed by the expanse of the common area consisting of a living area and a kitchenette. He shuts the door behind him after he drags both his suitcases in and toes off his shoes. He puts them neatly beside a pair of Nike Air Max; one of his roommates has already arrived.

“Hello!” He calls. “Is anybody here?”

Sato gets an immediate reply. “Oh? Are you one of my roommates? I’ll be right there.” A tall, black-haired man emerges from one of the rooms, toweling his hair. His impressive triceps flex with the movement, and water droplets slide down his face and onto his stretched out shirt. He either must have played sports in high school, or is a gym rat, or both.

The man spots Sato and heads over. “Kuroo Tetsurou, I’ll be in your care for this year,” he says with a lopsided smile. Kuroo is pretty good-looking, with his sharp jawline and cat-like eyes that crinkle when he smiles. Sato thinks Kuroo might have been popular in high school.

Regardless of his looks, Kuroo seems friendly and easy to talk to, and Sato finds himself relaxing, his previous worries about bad roommates quelled. “I’m Sato Yuma, I’ll be in your care too.”

Now all that is left is to meet Oikawa.

“Is that all you brought?” Kuroo asks, looking behind Sato as if expecting more than just two suitcases.

“Yeah, for now. My parents will be sending some more stuff over,” Sato says. He gives the room a cursory look; the kitchenette contains a counter, an electric stove, some cupboards, and of course a fridge. Perfect if Sato wants to save money and cook. Their living room contains a sofa for two, a small coffee table and a large dustbin. He doesn’t pay much attention to it, since he doubts he’ll spend much time in the common room anyway.

“So you’re not from here?”

“Nagano. It’s my second time in Tokyo. What about you?” The city is bigger and brighter than what Sato is used to, but he’s pretty excited about spending the next four years here. He couldn’t wait to explore the Skytree.

“Lived here my whole life,” Kuroo says. “I’ve never been to Nagano, actually, what’s there to do there?” The man finishes toweling his hair, and Sato is slightly taken aback on how…gravity-defying it is.

“A bunch of temples and some,” Sato responds, examining Kuroo’s face more closely now that it’s unobstructed by the towel. Sato couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen Kuroo somewhere before, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember. Maybe he had seen someone with Kuroo’s hair before, or something.

A phone rings. It’s sounding from Kuroo’s bedroom.

“Gotta go take that. Talk later, Sato-san.”

The door to Kuroo’s room clicks shut.

The room on the far right, closest to the shared bathroom, is taken by Kuroo, so now they’re two left: The room sharing a wall with the corridor, or the room right in between the two rooms. Sato decides on the lesser of the two evils and takes the middle one; he doesn’t feel like being awoken by drunkards in the middle of the night.

The interior of the room is minimal, but Sato is impressed by the amount of space he has. He was half-expecting a closet-sized room, given that this is the accommodation for first-year students, but there is enough space to comfortably fit an obese man between the single bed and the wardrobe. Sato calls this a win.

He wheels his suitcases in and shuts the door, putting his hands on his hips and giving a satisfied nod. He opens the window, letting the evening breeze in to ventilate the room, and begins to unpack. If he finishes early, he might see if Kuroo wants dinner.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting an orange glow in his room. Sato is almost done. Just then, there is a knock at his door.

“Sato-san, I’m going to that sushi place down the street, do you want to come?”

Sato is hungry, and sushi sounds fantastic, so he decides to take Kuroo on his offer and resume unpacking tonight. He grabs his phone and wallet and joins Kuroo in the common area. The man is leaning against the back of the sofa, clad in a flannel and tight skinny jeans that accentuate his gluteals and his long, long legs. Sato tugs on his own ratty tee and contemplates on changing just so he looks less of a potato compared to Kuroo.

“Makino’s sushi, right? I saw it on the way here,” Sato recalls, already salivating at just the thought. The food looked really good in pictures.

“Yup, hopefully it’s good. My friend from high school is joining us though, are you okay with that?” Kuroo asks as they don their shoes.

Truthfully, Sato isn’t good with new people, but he does want friends, especially since he’s all alone in a new city. “I don’t mind.”

They shut the front door behind them, and it automatically locks. Sato can’t help but be impressed by the facilities the University has to offer, but then again, this is one of the top private universities in a Tokyo, after all.

“—better than Seijou—”

“Duh, this is a university. Of course it’s better than a high school.”

Sato hears two distinct voices, along with the sound of a trolley being wheeled, before two men round the corner and head towards them. They are still talking, and doesn’t seem to notice Sato and Kuroo yet.

“But still, I can’t believe they’re making us stay in the dorms. I want to live with Iwa-chan!” The taller man in a bright yellow hoodie says petulantly, and if he isn’t wheeling the trolley, Sato thinks he would have folded his arms and stomped his foot.

“It’s only for first year, and shut the fuck up Shittykawa, you law students get one of the nicest dorms on campus!” The shorter of the two says before hitting the taller on the back, his smack clearly audible even to Sato. Ouch.

“Ow! Okay, I’ll…oh, I’m sorry,” the taller boy notices Sato and Kuroo, and stops to let them pass. Sato gives him a nod of thanks.

“So which room?”

“313…ah, there it is!”

Sato halts in his steps, and he feels Kuroo do the same beside him.

“Oikawa-san?” Kuroo experiments. Sato is grateful, for he wouldn’t have dared to say anything.

Both men turn to face them. Based on the conversation he heard, Sato assumes the taller one with chocolate brown hair is his roommate.

“Yes? Do I know you?” It is the taller man. He raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow in askance, a hand posed on his hips like a model. Sato resigns himself to being the least good-looking person in room 313 by a long shot.

Kuroo confidently steps you to the taller man and sticks out his hand, just like he did with Sato. “Kuroo Tetsurou. Nice to finally meet you, roommate-san.”

Oikawa’s brown eyes light up in understanding. His lips curve into a smile, displaying two rows of pearly whites. “Oikawa Tooru. This is my friend, Iwa-chan!”

‘Iwa-chan’ gives Oikawa another hard slap. Given the size of his arm, Sato wonders if there are many hand-print shapes littering Oikawa’s back. “It’s Iwaizumi, please take care of this idiot.”

“Such a mom, Iwa-chan,”

Kuroo and Oikawa are laughing, and Sato rubs his eyes to make sure he’s not hallucinating, because he’s pretty sure he’s seeing Ikemen sparkles radiating from the two. The aura around his roommates is rather extraordinary, and Sato’s pretty sure that if he walks next to them, he’s going to disappear.

“Hi, I’m Sato Yuma. Nice to meet you, Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san,” Sato dares to make his introduction only after he sees that Kuroo and Oikawa are done talking.

“Oh, hello! I guess I’m the last one to the party,” Oikawa says as he shakes Sato’s hand, and Sato’s brain proceeds to short-circuit, because Oikawa’s hands are very soft. How can a man’s hand be this soft? Sato daresay that it’s even softer than his girlfriend’s in Nagano.

“We’re headed to Makino’s sushi for dinner. You’re can join us if you want,” Kuroo offers. He checks his phone and types out a message, probably to the friend they’re meeting.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi share a brief look. “Sure,” Oikawa answers, “we’ll meet you there. I’ll put my stuff down first.”

They part ways at the corridor.

Makino’s sushi is only a five-minute walk from their dormitory next to the Life Sciences building. On the way, Sato cranes his neck so much trying to take in the view that it hurts; the university is huge, much more huge than any of the universities he went to in Nagano. He takes note of the signs pointing to the different buildings, trying to remember at least the directions to the gym and to the student hub.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins; this is it, he’s finally in University and studying a course he likes, away from that small town and in this big, bustling city of dreams.

The reach the small restaurant, and Kuroo pushes the door open. He scans the tables for his friend, and immediately heads to the corner table. “Kenma!”

Kenma, a high-schooler with blond tips and black roots, looks up from his Nintendo Switch as Kuroo bounds over. He nods in greeting, and his eyes sliding over to Sato.

“Ah, this is one of my roommates, Sato. Sato, this is my high school friend, Kozume Kenma. My other roommate and his friend is coming soon, we should get some more chairs…”

“Hello, Kozume-san,” Sato says, hoping the nervousness isn’t showing on his face. Unlike Kuroo, Kozume is hard to get a read on, with his blank expression and large golden-brown eyes that seem to bore into his soul.

“Hello,” Kozume simply says. He puts the menu in front of Sato, and without another word, goes back to his Nintendo.

Perking up, Sato looks over the wide selection, his ghrelin hormones on overdrive. So many types of sushi to choose from. He pens down his choices on the order sheet before passing the paper to Kuroo for him to order.

“I already ordered the mackerel set for you,” Kozume tells Kuroo. Sato looks between the two.

Kuroo smiles, and it’s different from the one he gave to Sato and Oikawa. It’s more soft, more affectionate. “Thanks, drinks?”

“Hot green tea, the usual.”

“Knew I can count on you,” Kuroo says before getting up to give the order sheet to the staff for Sato.

Sato quietly observes their interaction. They clearly go way back even before high school, for Sato is sure he doesn’t have this kind of relationship with any of his high school friends, maybe except for his girlfriend. Kozume also seems like someone who keeps to himself, so Sato is surprised that Kozume is good friends with Kuroo, who is a practically a socialite compared to the both of them.

“Thank you, Kuroo-san,” Sato says when Kuroo returns to the table.

“No problem,”

Kuroo then asks about the game Kenma is playing, and Sato easily fades into the background, content to watch as the two friends strike up light conversation. They’re clearly very close and comfortable with each other, and Sato almost feels a pang of envy as he thinks of his girlfriend back at home.

Speaking of his girlfriend, he should give her a call when he gets back to his room.

“How’s Lev? He improve any from summer camp?”

In response, Kozume makes a face that sends fear creeping down Sato’s spine. Whoever ‘Lev’ is, it sounds like his life is in imminent danger.

“Now that you and Yaku-san can’t come anymore…coach put me in charge of him. Honestly, I’d rather do 100 burpees than play babysit him every practice,” Kozume says, his tone mellow, but the fire in his eyes tell quite a different story.

Kuroo doesn’t seem to be perturbed by Kozume’s murderous aura, so Sato assumes the animosity between Kozume and this Lev person is nothing short of normal. “Calm down, you still have Yamamoto to whip him into shape.”

“Thank you for waiting, here’s one mackerel set and one unagi roll!” The waitress chirps, placing the food down onto the table.

“Thank you, wow, these look good,” Kuroo says, breaking his chopsticks. Sato tries not to salivate as his stomach rumbles.

Kozume zips his Nintendo back into its case, then brings over his messenger bag to put it in. Sato catches the emblem of Kozume’s high school, along with the kanji ‘Nekoma Metropolitan High School’.

“You’re from Nekoma High?” The question slips out from Sato before he can stop it. Suddenly, he remembers where he saw Kuroo and his wild hair before; on television, during the All Japan High School Volleyball Spring Tournament. Although he doesn’t recall seeing Kozume, from their conversation about practice, he assumes Kozume plays volleyball as well.

Sato is roommates with a national high school volleyball player. Sato is eating dinner with national high school volleyball players. What the fuck.

“Hmm? Yeah,” Kuroo says nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just blown Sato’s mind just now. Granted, he didn’t know that Sato played volleyball in high school too. “You know us?”

“I saw you. At Nationals,” Sato says, looking between Kuroo and Kozume in awe. “I mean, I watched it on TV…my team is nowhere good enough to represent Nagano…”

“Oho? You play volleyball too? What position?”

Sato takes a huge gulp of tea, hyper aware of both Kuroo and Kozume’s gazes on him. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t have a position he is particularly inclined to; he just plays whatever. He knows that this answer won’t fly with players this dedicated to the sport, and he doesn’t want to disappoint his roommate on the first day. “…Setter.”

Kozume nods as he takes a small bite of his roll.

“Oh, you guys play the same position!” Kuroo says, clapping his hands together. “We should play together sometime.”

“I only play for fun, I’m not that good,” Sato hurriedly says. His hands are clammy, and he proceeds to wipe them on his jeans. He hopes Kuroo will forget about it, because he will absolutely get pwn-ed if he plays with national-level players.

“That’s fine! Lev, our junior on the team, sucks at volleyball, but we still play with him anyway,” Kuroo reassures Sato, but that did nothing to ease his nervousness, because in his eyes even the weakest Nekoma player is still ten times better than he is.

Kozume puts his chopsticks down. His unagi roll is only half-eaten. “Kuro, do you want this?”

“Already? Come on, you gotta eat more!”

“I’m full, so no.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Sato chuckles to himself as he watches Kuroo and Kozume bicker. At the corner of his eye, he sees a tall man come into the shop, scanning the crowd as if looking for someone. He then realizes that it’s Oikawa with his rather eye-catching, neon yellow hoodie.

How someone can still look presentable with neon yellow clothes is beyond Sato’s comprehension.

Sato waves his hand, and that catches Oikawa’s attention. The joy Oikawa is radiating is enough for Sato to imagine flowers surrounding him as he makes his way to their table, Iwaizumi in tow.

“Hello! Hope we weren’t too late.”

“It’s because you were too busy flirting with the receptionist!”

“Ow! Stop hitting me, Iwa-chan.”

Kozume dumps the menu in front of Iwaizumi, and that successfully halts their comedic banter. They look at Kozume in confusion, before turning to Kuroo.

“Kozume Kenma. Kuro’s friend,” Kozume says simply, seemingly shrinking with the attention. Sato relates on a spiritual level.

Oikawa smiles warmly. “Oikawa Tooru.”

Kozume twitches at Oikawa’s introduction. It is minute, but with everybody’s attention on him, it doesn’t go unnoticed. He pulls out his phone, uncharacteristically hasty for his calm demeanor as Oikawa mouths ‘what did I do’ to Iwaizumi.

Kuroo also seems confused. “Kenma, what are you—”

“Oikawa Tooru…from Aoba Johsai High School in Miyagi?” Kozume says, locking his phone and placing it back in his pocket.

Oikawa’s mouth drops. It should have been comical, but the man still looks annoying good even when surprised. “Yes? Wow, my reputation precedes me. Did you hear that, Iwa-chan?” He recovers fast, and Sato could practically feel his smugness.

“Aoba Johsai? Wait, I’ve heard that school before…” Kuroo furrows his brows.

“Thank you for waiting, here is your order of one mixed tuna nigiri set!” The waitress is back. She places Sato’s food in front of him. Iwaizumi quickly scribbles down his and Oikawa’s orders and hands it to the waitress as she leaves.

Sato wolfs down a tuna with gusto, the fatty fish tasting like heaven as it melts on his tongue. He is definitely coming back here again.

“Shouyou told me about them. They lost to Karasuno 2-1 at the prefecture semifinals, but Shouyou says their setter is as good as Karasuno’s,” Kozume tells Kuroo. It might only be meant for Kuroo’s ears, but due to their proximity, everyone on the table heard it.

Karasuno, another Best 8 team from the Spring tournament, Sato realizes. Does everyone in the high school volleyball bracket know each other? And Oikawa also plays volleyball…

“Karasuno’s…setter…” Oikawa says, his smile turning stale and his gaze sharp. Sato looks at him warily; reminding himself never to piss his roommate off. Is there bad blood between those two schools?

“Ahhh, sorry, sorry. He doesn’t really get along with Kageyama, haha,” Iwaizumi quickly intervenes.

“It’s okay, I understand you’d be salty. We were too when we lost to them,” Kuroo reassures, and the mood is restored. Sato breathes a sigh of relief, continuing with his meal. “But wow, I can’t believe I’m roomed with two volleyball players, the room allocation quiz really did a good job!”

Sato wishes he could go back and tell his past self not to list volleyball as a hobby on that damn quiz, because he’s pretty sure his definition of ‘hobby’ isn’t the same as these people’s. He’s roommates with a national player and a prefecture semifinals player; his school didn’t even make it into the top 20 of his prefecture.

“Shouyou also told me Oikawa-san won ‘Best Setter’ award for Miyagi.” Kozume says, probably trying to compensate for his slip up. Sato almost drops his chopsticks.

“Oho? That’s pretty neat!”

So Sato is roommates with a best 8 national team player and the best setter in Miyagi, and they both happened to be tall, handsome and charismatic. Is it possible for Sato to feel any more inferior?

“Ah, you heard?” Oikawa looks happier now, thankfully. “Your friend seems to know a lot about me, considering that my school didn’t go to Nationals.”

“Shouyou goes to Karasuno,” says Kozume.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi seem to be communicating telepathically.

“By ‘Shouyou’, you mean…Hinata Shouyou? That number 10?” Iwaizumi asks. Oikawa looks like he swallowed a lemon.

Kozume nods.

“You guys know chibi-chan?”

“Hahaha, yes, of course we know chibi-chan and Tobio-chan. They’re quite a troublesome duo on the court.”

“Hahaha, so it seems. That setter is too good, it’s scary.”

Kuroo and Oikawa laugh, but there’s a scary undertone to it that Sato doesn’t like. He’s going to be living with these two for the whole year, and he doesn’t feel like being maimed in his sleep, thank you.

Sato’s hand itches for his phone. He wants to call up his old teammates to maybe ask if they know anything about Aoba Johsai or Nekoma or Karasuno, because he feels incredibly out of the loop right now. But that would have to wait until he’s in the privacy of his own room.

“Thank you for waiting!” The waitress chirps, and Sato had never been more grateful for an interruption. She serves Oikawa and Iwaizumi their food and hurries away. Oikawa breaks his chopsticks and he digs in heartily, bad mood forgotten.

Sato wonders if his roommate has borderline personality disorder.

Thankfully, they veer away from discussion of volleyball, and Sato finds out that, aside from being passionate (maybe too passionate for Sato) about volleyball, Kuroo and Oikawa are people he thinks he can get along with, and by extension, Kozume and Iwaizumi.

Just as they finish eating, Kuroo holds up his glass of hot tea.

“Hey, cheers to being roommates and meeting new friends.”

Oikawa laughs as he holds up his glass, sending a few rice pellets flying into Iwaizumi. “Cheers to a good freshman year.”

With how they’re behaving, Sato wonders if the tea is somehow spiked. He obliges nonetheless, finding their antics hilarious. Iwaizumi, after a nudge from Oikawa, grudgingly does the same. “Cheers.”

They clink their glasses together.

“Oi Kenma! Don’t be a party pooper!”

“Leave me out of this, I’m not even a college student.”

Sato smiles giddily, watching Kuroo forcibly clink his glass with Kenma’s; his first day in Tokyo and he already has four new friends. He can’t wait to go back and tell his girlfriend.

*

Sato has never had roommates before. While he knows that cohabitation problems will crop up sooner or later, he never expects it to happen on the first official day of the semester.

He sighs, looking at the clock for the nth time; they had exactly half an hour until they have to report for their course orientation, and he is still in his pajamas. Because Oikawa has been in the bathroom from the time Sato woke up and counting. He taps his foot on the floor as he debates whether he should knock on the bathroom door, would it be considered rude to do so?

The door swings open, and Sato almost jumps for joy, except that it isn’t Oikawa finally coming out of the bathroom, but it’s Kuroo leaning against his doorway, yawning hugely, his hair messy enough to be mistaken for a birds nest.

Even fresh out of bed, his hair is still like that, Sato muses. “Good morning, Kuroo-san.”

“Mornin’, you’re up early. Oikawa inside?” Kuroo tilts his head towards the bathroom.

“Um…he’s been inside since eight. I also haven’t showered…” Sato says hesitantly. “Do you think we should knock?”

Kuroo looks at the clock overhead, and his eyes bulged. “Shi— if we don’t we’ll be late!” In two quick strides, he’s there and banging loudly on the door. “Oikawa-san! It’s already eight-thirty, and Sato-san and I need use the toilet, too, if you don’t mind.” Sato almost jumps out of his skin. He hopes Oikawa doesn’t hold this against them.

“What time did you say it was?” Oikawa screams.

“Eight-thirty!”

There is a curse, followed by a loud, mysterious ‘thump’ before the door opens in a flash. Oikawa hops out, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, dangerously low that Sato could see his happy trail, along with the hard edges of his hipbones. Oikawa’s defined abdominis contract and relax in peristaltic waves with his heavy breathing, sending rivulets of water sliding down almost sensually.

Sato averted his eyes, suddenly shy.

“I’m so so sorry, I lost track of time! Oh my god, we’re so late—”

“Jesus, what were you doing in there…”Kuroo mutters, swatting away the steam that followed Oikawa out. He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “Go on in, Sato-san.”

Sato does not need to be told twice. Luckily, he has already brushed his teeth in the kitchen, so all he needs to do is take a piss and wash his face, and he’s done. The shower would have to wait until he comes back from their afternoon schedule, lest they be late.

Kuroo is pleasantly surprised when Sato takes under five minutes. The man shrugs off his shirt as he dashes in, and Sato catches a glimpse of the most sculpted deltoids and scapulae he has ever seen.

Sato should seriously start frequenting the gym.

*


	2. Home exercises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only takes four times for Sato to resign to the conversion of his living space into a home gym.
> 
> Alternatively, the three times Oikawa and Kuroo exercise, and the one time Sato joins in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this surprisingly helps me relieve stress, so this is another chapter no one asked for. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> PS. Thanks to all the lovelies who commented and Kudo-ed <3! Didn’t think an OC would be well-received when I posted this.

Home Exercises  
  


*

  1. Pilates



Sato trudges beside Kuroo out the elevator towards their flat. Their tutorial overshot by almost an hour, and while Sato normally wouldn’t mind hearing their tutor ramble about Ted Bundy’s homicides, today just isn’t the day.

Kuroo taps the key card, and the door to room 313 unlocks with a ‘beep’. Immediately, an eerily familiar voice greets them, but it’s not Oikawa.

“…If we do justice, and we respect rights, society will be better off in the long run…”

Kuroo’s groan cuts through their professor’s lecture. “Why, just why. Is it not enough that we heard him for three hours today?”

“Hey, you guys are back late today.” Oikawa is prone on the floor, underneath him a yoga mat, as he follows a pilate exercise on his iPad while his phone is playing this morning’s recorded interactive lecture.

“Tutorial ended late.”

Sato isn’t sure what to feel about this level of productivity on their first month of university.

He pours himself a glass of water as he idly watches Oikawa work out. Oikawa’s legs are extended and off the ground as he continuously kicks them, a resistance band in between. Sato recognizes this is a glutei exercise.

Oikawa stops his flutter kicks with a small grunt. He wipes off his sweat, then flips over so he’s lying supine…and then begins doing weighted glute bridges. With thigh abductions.

Basically, Oikawa’s thrusting his hips while spreading his thighs.

Sato almost chokes on his water.

“I know this is awkward, but please ignore me,” Oikawa says, his voice shaky, whether out of embarrassment or exertion, Sato can’t tell; he’s too busy trying not to die from aspiration.

Creamy white skin peeks out between his shirt and tights, showing contracting obliques, and his thighs bulging visibly through the skin-tight cotton with each abduction. Sato wonders how hard he has to train to get that model-esque figure.

He quickly gulps down the last of the water and washes his glass. He tells himself that he’s leaving to give Oikawa his privacy, definitely not because Sato’s flustered.

The door to the bathroom opens. “Guys, we ran out of toilet…paper…” Kuroo says, trailing off when he sees Oikawa.

The sound of the professor’s impassioned voice barely manages to fill the silence. Oikawa slowly lowers his hips, the medicine ball sliding off.

“Shut up, Kuroo.”

Kuroo throws his hands up in mock surrender, but on his face is a shit-eating grin that spells trouble. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Good. Keep it that way,” Oikawa says, giving Kuroo a pointed look. He flips over to do his next exercise as Sato finishes washing his cup. Oikawa gets into a down dog position and extends his straightened right leg.

“Oh, I have tissue paper,” Sato remembers. They’d have to buy more tomorrow, but Sato is too lazy to leave this room, so travel tissues would have to do for tonight. He goes back into his room to retrieve a pack.

He comes out just in time to see Kuroo give Oikawa’s raised behind a smack as he walks past. “Raise your hips higher and straighten your legs more, Oikawa-kun. Your flat ass needs all the help it can get.”

That is enough to make Oikawa break form slightly to flip Kuroo the bird. Not that Kuroo sees it because his back is facing Oikawa. “Fuck you, I _have_ an ass, I just haven’t been training it!” His voice sounds more indignant than truly angry, so Sato can be rest assured Cold War 2 wouldn’t start in their flat.

However, if someone asked Sato his opinion, he would have agreed with Kuroo that Oikawa’s gluteal muscles are rather lacking compared to the rest of his physique. But no one does, so Sato just minds his own business and places the tissue pack in the bathroom.

Kuroo turns back to retort, “heh, are you sure about that?”

One of Oikawa’s bobby pins fall from his hair onto the floor.

“Kuroo,” Oikawa manages, his face flushing. “I will personally prove you wrong. Just let me finish this workout first.”

The other man barks out a laugh, and Sato thinks that one day, Kuroo’s provocations will get him killed and his body dumped in a ditch.

“Sure thing, mister cardboard,” he drawls.

“C-cardbo—” Oikawa splutters as Kuroo closes his bedroom door with a hyena-like laughter. Sato doesn’t know if it would be appropriate to laugh as well.

“Oikawa, fighting!” Sato encourages, retreating back to his sanctuary as well.

If Oikawa begins to do his workouts with more gusto than it is required, Sato doesn’t say anything and just goes about his daily life as usual.

*

  1. Calisthenics



Sato is watching YouTube videos in bed when there is a knock on his door. “Sato, I’m back. I got pizza!” It is Oikawa’s turn to get dinner today, and he does not disappoint, even if said dinner probably has enough grease to oil a bike. He pauses the video and goes out for their meal.

Oikawa dumps the two boxes of pizza on the coffee table, along with a 2-liter bottle of coke. He’s talking to Kuroo, who for a reason unknown to Sato, is trying to do a handstand in the corner of the room, thankfully out of the way of fragile objects.

Kuroo crumples to the floor. “Shit, I almost had it just now!”

Sato notices that the front of Kuroo’s dri-fit is drenched in sweat, meaning that the man has probably been at it for some time now. He leans back against his arms, accentuating the muscular outlines in his biceps and brachialis as he regains his breath. Sweat dribbles down his jaw, to his neck and onto his collarbone. He wipes it with his forearm, his right scapulae retracting into a perfect arch that looks like it belongs on a fitness magazine.

“Kuroo, can you…never mind, Sato, can you get me the cups?” Sato jolts, slightly embarrassed from having stared at Kuroo for too long than it is appropriate. He scurries to their kitchenette to retrieve the cups.

When Sato returns with three cups and a bag of ice, Kuroo has got up from the floor and is headed to the bathroom. Hopefully he puts on deodorant too, because the musty and sweaty odor that comes with indoor exercising is still lingers.

“Is it okay that you guys are eating junk food? Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” Sato says conversationally. He opens up one of the boxes and discovers, to his delight, that Oikawa has gotten a triple cheese.

“It’s fine, even athletes have the right to enjoy these kinds of things once in a while, but don’t tell Iwa-chan though. Besides, it was buy 1 get 1 free!”

Kuroo comes back out sweat-free, and they dig into the pizza. It is the most delicious pizza Sato had all year, though he may be biased due to his spiking hunger levels before. If his high school coach could see him now, he’ll be so disappointed.

“…So I can hold a frog stand pretty well. I’m stable and my arms aren’t shaking. But whenever I try to go up into a handstand, I just lose balance.” Sato realizes that his roommates are talking about calisthenics. A quick google search told him what a frog stand is.

“The frog stand is literally the most basic form, of course you could do it,” Oikawa says.

“Yeah yeah, but I could do a handstand against the wall, so it’s not like my arms are too weak or anything, but I can’t do it up from a frog stand.”

Oikawa chews thoughtfully. “Then maybe you just suck at balancing, Kuroo-kun, or your core is weak,” he says brightly, as if he hasn’t just insulted Kuroo.

“Oho...I assure you, my core is strong all right,” Kuroo purrs.

“Not strong enough, apparently. An unassisted handstand requires more core than, I don’t know, baby steps like the frog stand,” Oikawa says, taking a loud sip from his cup. That is definitely on purpose.

“Well, if you’re such an expert, why don’t you kindly demonstrate, please?”

It is apparently what Oikawa is waiting for, for a pleasant smile breaks out on his face. Sato thinks that Kuroo might have met his match regarding provocations.

“Of course.” Oikawa puts down his cup and grabs a few tissues to wipe his hands. “Oikawa-san will show you how it’s really done.”

Oikawa does a few light stretches as Sato and Kuroo watch. He goes into a crouch and easily tips into the frog stand pose, holding it sturdily as he gives Kuroo a purposeful look. Then, with one fluid motion, he lifts his legs off his arms and extends it up into a handstand, all while being firmly rooted to the floor with his two hands. His lower body sways slightly to and fro, but no one can argue that that is a solid handstand. His shirt drops down to his chest, exposing the clear ridges and troughs of his abdominals and ribs.

Sato feels his jaw drop. “Wow, that’s so cool.”

Kuroo whistles. “How did you get your legs up like that without losing balance?”

Oikawa gracefully lands into a forward roll, face flushed but proud. “You have to get used to balancing with your thighs off your arms before you straighten them up. You could do a Tripod headstand first, I think it’s easier...”

Sato grabs another slice as Kuroo gets up for another attempt, dinner abandoned. He takes a bite, watching his two roommates talk as they hold their frog stands, as if that ‘baby steps’ pose isn’t hard in itself. Sato’s pretty sure his wrists and core are too weak to perform even that pose.

“Oh! I’m…argh!” Kuroo manages to hold his handstand for a few seconds before he tips forward, landing in a heap on his behind. “Ow.”

Oikawa giggles as he offers Kuroo his hand to help him up. “Maybe you should work on your core, mister human paper.”

“Human paper?! Why you—”

Did he just…Sato shakes his head, stifling his laughter. He can’t believe Oikawa is still sore from Kuroo calling him out on his barely-existent ass the other day; Oikawa Tooru might just be one of the pettiest people Sato knows.

The next day, Sato isn’t surprised to see Kuroo attempting the handstand again.

*

  1. Acro Yoga



It’s been a long day at his part-time job, and all Sato wants to do is take a nice, warm shower and go to bed. Sometimes, he wonders if he’d been too hasty in getting a job, but the figures in his savings account convinces him otherwise. Tokyo is expensive, and even a month in, Sato is still surprised at how costly some things can be compared to his hometown.

He puts down his bag to dig out his wallet for the key card, about to tap it against the censor when a loud groan causes him to freeze.

“No, not there!” And then another groan.

“Fuck, Kuroo, not like that. Like _this!”_

Sato’s hand twitches, his wallet loose in his grip. There is a chance he may have misheard—

“Ah! No, lean the other-ah!” Oikawa’s voice cut loudly through the door and into Sato’s ears.

Sato drops his wallet. This is so not happening to him.

There are three things he has to wrap his mind around right now:

  1. Kuroo and Oikawa are getting it on.



Sato is a nineteen year old man, on the cusp on adulthood. It would be a lie to say that he’s oblivious about homosexuality and their means of fornication, which brings him to his second point.

  1. Kuroo and Oikawa are both male.



Sato didn’t even know they were gay, much less that they were into each other. He did notice that Kuroo and Oikawa became comfortable with each rather quickly, with their similar personalities and interests, but never in a million years did Sato think that it would culminate to…this.

“Wait stop, it kinda hurts.”

“Oh okay, how do you want me to do it?”

While Sato himself isn’t attracted to guys, he’s open-minded enough not to discriminate. However, there is one thing he has a problem with:

  1. Kuroo and Oikawa are doing it in the common area.



That is the biggest problem he’s facing right now. Good for them, getting laid, Sato thinks, but must they do it in the living room? Have they forgotten they have one more roommate living with them?

“Shit, almost there—!” Kuroo’s voice is cut off suddenly. Momentary silence follows, and just when Sato thinks he might be able to make his presence known, Oikawa says:

“Let’s try that again, you be on the bottom this time. I’ll lift my hips up—”

Sato lets out a frustrated cry. He takes a deep breath and counts 1 to 10 real fast. He contemplates calling up a friend to stay the night, despite not having any essentials on him at all. Or he should just take a late train back to Nagano and maybe cry into his mother’s arms for a bit.

“Ow! Your feet are digging into my ribs!”

“Stop complaining! You’re the one who wanted to do this!”

Fuck this, Sato thinks, pulling out his phone to call someone, anyone, because the more he stands here, the more he loses his sanity. He scrolls through his admittedly short contact list and finally decides on his nice-looking senpai from work.

“Sato-san?” Before he can press call, someone calls his name, and he looks up to find a man with cropped, black spiky hair walking towards him. It’s Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s friend.

“Good evening, Iwaizumi-san, are you here to see Oikawa?” Sato asks, because even in the middle of a crisis, manners are still important.

“Mm. He forgot his sweater, and he’s been whining for me to give it back, so…anyway why are you just standing out here?”

Sato is unable to reply, partially because he doesn’t even know what to say, and partially because another low-pitched groan reverberates between them, loud and clear.

“Not again!”

“Fuck! You’re squishing my balls, watch your knee!” Oikawa screeches, and this is the highest Sato has heard Oikawa’s voice go. The image that is inadvertently conjured in Sato’s head is enough to make his testes constrict with phantom pain.

“God, I’m tired. Oikawa, I think we should stop for today.”

“No no, we almost got it, one more time!”

“No seriously, my legs are so weak right now.”

Sato lets out a resigned sigh. He turns to Iwaizumi; hopefully the man would let him crash at his dorm, seeing as he’s aware of Sato’s predicament. But he takes a look at Iwaizumi, and the words die in his throat.

Iwaizumi looks like he’s about to cry, his face contorted with anguish. 

The juxtaposition of a strong, dependable person displaying such a vulnerable expression is enough to let Sato give Iwaizumi all the time he needs to recollect himself.

Now Sato understands that this is a traumatic experience; he himself doesn’t think he could look his roommates in the eye again. However, while his friendship with Oikawa may not be as intimate as Iwaizumi’s, it is obvious to him that, given the visual cues, what Iwaizumi is feeling goes beyond disgust at hearing your friend bone.

Iwaizumi stares at the floor as he chews on his bottom lip, knuckles gripping at Oikawa’s sweater so tightly his veins swell. Sato fidgets with his phone; wondering how he should diffuse this sudden tension.

“Oikawa, I think you should be on top, my legs are stronger,” in the silence that hung between them, Kuroo’s normal speaking tone could be heard as if it is on loudspeaker. “So I’ll balance myself with my hands and you’ll sit on my hips and lean back.”

“Okay, last time for real.”

Something nags at Sato’s mind. He’s by no means a cassanova, but he has had sexual experience with his girlfriends, both current and ex, and they’re never this technical with communication about their sex positions, nor do they move around as much as Oikawa and Kuroo seem to be doing. But then again, he’s a vanilla guy through and through, so what does he know? Oikawa and Kuroo might be doing kama sutra level positions.

“Iwaizumi-san. Shall we leave?” Sato finally suggests when he hears another of Oikawa’s shouts.

Iwaizumi’s breathing is still uneven, his brows still furrowed, but he no longer looks like he’s about to fall apart at the seams, which Sato is relieved about. The man looks at him, and Sato sees that his eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“This is your room too, you know. Don’t leave for their sakes,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

Sato is floored with Iwaizumi’s level of manliness and selflessness, his respect for the man quintupling with that one sentence.

_‘But what about you? Why are you still here even if it’s hurting you to hear them?’_ Sato wants to ask, but he and Iwaizumi are only acquaintances. It would be rude to pry.

But Iwaizumi has a point. Room 313 is Sato’s room as much as it is Oikawa’s and Kuroo’s. He shouldn’t bend over backwards just because they couldn’t keep it in their pants long enough to get to one of their rooms.

Sato makes his decision.

“Oh my god, yes! Yes!”

“We did it! Now let go!”

Sato taps his key card and pushes open the door, consoling himself that at least it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, anatomy-wise. He leaves the door open for Iwaizumi, kicks off his shoes, and steels himself for the ensuing madness.

“Oikawa, get off, you’re heavy…”

The sight that greets Sato is not what he expected at all, to put it lightly. He sees Oikawa and Kuroo sprawled on the floor, out of breath and sweating, but that’s about it. They’re fully clothed, and there are no mysterious fluids or stains as far as Sato can see.

Sato is grateful, but confused. If they weren’t having sex, then what were they doing?

“Hey you’re back—Iwa-chan! You really came!” Oikawa’s voice brightens as soon as he sees Iwaizumi. He crawls off Kuroo and bounds over to him, not unlike a puppy to its owner. “You brought my—”

Iwaizumi takes Oikawa’s sweater and pulls it over his face like an oversized blindfold, causing Oikawa to flail around with his vision obstructed.

“Idiotkawa! Next time you fucking leave something in my room it’s going straight into the donation bin!” It’s definitely an overreaction to a forgotten sweater. Even Kuroo is looking on with open surprise.

But then Sato takes a good look at Iwaizumi; his rapid blinking, his lips quivering, his Adam’s apple bobbing and face lax with relief so immense it’s palpable to even an onlooker, he knows it’s not about the sweater at all.

Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa’s head with two hands and squeezes, eliciting a loud whine, and Sato catches a fleeting smile on the normally stoic man, despite his gruff tone.

“I give, I give! My perfect hair…Iwa-chan, where’re you going?”

“Toilet,” Iwaizumi says, slamming the door behind him. Sato hears the lock click.

Oikawa pouts, smoothing out his sweater and his hair, both of which has definitely suffered under Iwaizumi’s rough treatment.

“Did you do anything to make him mad?” Kuroo asks, pushing himself off the floor. He picks up his phone from the floor.

“Not that I know of…”

Sato sighs, feeling a headache and embarrassment incoming. He’s going to regret asking this, but… “what were you guys doing on the floor just now?”

“Huh, oh! We were doing acro yoga!” Oikawa’s suddenly back to his cheerful self. “Kuroo, show him.”

“What, no, I’m tired.”

“I meant the video.”

Sato accepts Kuroo’s phone, and sees, on the screen, a tiktok video composed of people doing various backbreaking, limb-bending yoga poses in pairs.

“We just did the picnic table challenge before you came back, it’s like a human see-saw, and definitely harder than it looks. You should join us next time…”

Sato sees said picnic table challenge a few seconds later, with two people with their upper bodies suspended in mid air parallel to the ground, supported only by one person’s thighs in the middle. Sato’s own thighs hurt from just watching them.

_“Oikawa, I think you should be on top, my legs are stronger,”_ Sato remembers Kuroo’s words, and suddenly, in this context, it all clicks into place.

It isn’t a raunchy sex position, it’s a yoga pose.

Sato hands Kuroo back the phone, shame prickling at his skin. He wants dig a hole in the ground and maybe bury himself, because he just went ahead and assumed something bad about his roommates without learning what the real situation was. Worse, he brought Iwaizumi into this and caused him to misunderstand.

Lesson learnt: don’t jump to conclusions too fast.

Iwaizumi comes out of the bathroom, looking more calm and collected and more like his usual self. Sato dares to make eye contact with him, and thankfully, Iwaizumi just gives him a tired smile.

“Dibs on the shower,” Kuroo says quickly before Sato can. He supposes this is the least he can do to appease his guilt.

Oikawa begins telling Iwaizumi about his yoga attempts with Kuroo, complete with whole body movements. Iwaizumi humors him with his usual grumpy face, but Sato could tell he’s enjoying it as much as Oikawa. At one point, Oikawa grabs Iwaizumi’s arms to demonstrate, and Iwaizumi lets him, as pliant as a doll and a tinkle of laughter on his lips. Their interactions flow so naturally as if they’ve been doing this for a long time, and no doubt they have.

“Oh look,” Oikawa says, pointing to his phone. “This one requires three people. Do you guys—”

“No,” Iwaizumi and Sato say immediately in unison. No yoga for Sato for a long time.

“Party poopers. Kuroo is the only one who gets me,” Oikawa says, folding his arms. If only he knew what Sato and Iwaizumi went through.

Thereafter, if Sato hears Oikawa and Kuroo make loud, questionable noises in the common area, he learns to tune them out.

*

  1. “Volleyball”



When Sato learns that Oikawa and Kuroo are nothing short of volleyball freaks, he knows that this is going to inevitably happen, and he’s prepared for them to cajole him into a game sooner or later. However, he’s doesn’t expect they would ask him to play ‘don’t drop the ball’, and in their flat no less.

“We settle this with a game. Person who drops the pillow has to clean the kitchen,” Kuroo says, his voice uncharacteristically serious, holding up a volleyball-shaped pillow. “Use any means possible to keep the pillow from touching the floor or flying out of bounds, okay?”

“Wait, how do we decide the loser if there’s no net?” Oikawa asks.

“Whoever the ball lands closest to. So for example you can say you’re going to hit to me but then throw it backwards or something.”

“Ah that makes sense.”

“Um,” Sato hates to be the wet blanket, but he really thinks throwing around a pillow indoors at high velocities isn’t that great of an idea. “Why can’t we just Rock Paper Scissors?”

“Because,” Oikawa says in a grandiose voice. “It wouldn’t be fun that way.”

“Besides, do you want to leave your fate to luck? We duel it out like real men,” Kuroo adds.

Sato sighs, but accedes. He’s the minority anyway. They spread out across the living area in a triangle. Sato backs up until the back of his legs hit the sofa.

“Just to make sure, play area is only the living room, right? Kitchen and genkan are out?” Sato asks.

“Yup.”

Sato just wants to get this over and done with and hopefully not have to clean the kitchen; that area is now unofficially cordoned off because Oikawa somehow melted the plastic spatula while he was trying to cook an omelette. The entire area now smells like a biohazard.

That is also when Sato put his foot down and insists that they finally get around to cleaning their garbage dump of a kitchen, lest they suffer from cyanide poisoning.

It isn’t that any of them are dirty individuals; Oikawa’s room is immaculate and surprisingly minimalistic, and Kuroo has a neat and visually pleasing way of organizing his stuff. Sato likes to think he’s a clean person too. However, the kitchen is a troublesome area to clean, and it was never really agreed on whose responsibility it was, so nobody bothered until now.

“Playball!” Oikawa cries out, serving the pillow. He underestimates his strength, the ball hitting the ceiling and bouncing over to Kuroo.

Kuroo kicks it back up to Sato, who digs it towards Oikawa.

The game takes longer than anyone thought it would, everyone fueled by their intense desire to avoid cleaning the smoking disaster zone. Sato has tripped over his own feet to get the ball, and Kuroo even _dived_ for it.

Sato hits the ball up high, wiping sweat off his forehead. He acknowledges that he’s disadvantaged in terms of natural athleticism, never mind volleyball skills, but he’ll be damned if he has to waste time cleaning the stupid kitchen; time that could be spent revising for their test on Monday. 

The ball flies past Oikawa’s head from Kuroo’s spike, and Sato hopes that Oikawa wouldn’t be able to get it. But Oikawa, with his instincts, leaps for it like a tiger pouncing on its prey and manages to send it back. The momentum has him barrel-rolling straight into the large trash bin against the wall.

It’s as if everything happened in slow motion. Sato sees the already overflowing bin tip with the impact, ejecting its contents all over Oikawa and some more.

The pillow lands right on top of some wet mush with a ‘splat’.

Everyone freezes. Sato’s hands were above his head to receive the ball, Kuroo has an arm outstretched. Oikawa is…curled on the floor, a mixture of food in various stages of decomposition lathered over his body like a bath gel.

If Sato recalls correctly, the last time they emptied that bin was two weeks ago.

Oikawa lets out a shuddering breath. He moves his head, and a pile of goop that Sato recognizes as porridge from yesterday slides down and splatters onto the floor. The foul stench hits Sato all at once when he comes out of his shock, and it takes all of his willpower not to vomit.

Seriously, hats off to all the garbagemen out there.

“Oikawa,” Sato stammers, his voice nasally from holding his breath. “You okay?”

“..Okay?” Oikawa breathes harshly through his teeth. “I have trash all over me. Of course I’m not okay.” The man looks close to a mental breakdown; he hasn’t made any move to get up, staring blankly ahead of him as if processing the situation.

“He means if you’re hurt,” Kuroo says. He’s the first person to recover, and is bringing over the roll of paper towels. “I’m guessing you’re not. Wipe off and go shower, then we’ll clean this together.”

That seems to calm Oikawa down slightly. Sato and Kuroo help Oikawa wipe off most of the gunk so he can go to the bathroom without leaving a trail. The slimy, bumpy texture against his fingers, the rancid smell, and the wet, squelching sounds; they are so overpowering it leaves him in tears trying to suppress his gag reflex, but he doesn’t dare complain, not when Oikawa is receiving the worst end of the situation. Though he has to turn away and take a momentary break when he sees Oikawa lift his shirt, and some mashed tuna lands with a ‘plop’ onto the surrounding mess.

“Thanks,” Oikawa says, forcing a smile. “Now excuse me while I go scrub my entire skin off.”

“Take all the time you need bro,” Kuroo says sympathetically. He lets out a long sigh when the door shuts behind Oikawa. “Well, in hindsight, that wasn’t a very good idea…urgh, now my pillow is ruined too…”

Sato bites his tongue to keep the ‘I told you so’ at bay. “I guess we should get started?”

“We should. Can you go grab a few garbage bags? And the mop from the supply cupboard.”

Sato does as he’s told as Kuroo begins tearing a load of paper towels onto the mess.

All in all, Sato is now glad to be the one cleaning if it means not having a face full of literal trash. He muses on the irony of the situation as he grabs the supplies; no one wanted to clean, which resulted in everyone having to, some more than others.

*

_Omake_

Sato stares at Iwaizumi as the latter wheezes with laughter, hands clutching his stomach.

“Oh my god, did that really happen? Please tell me you guys have pictures.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa says, scandalized. “I can’t believe this betrayal, from my best friend no less.”

It starts off with Iwaizumi visiting and blatantly asking why their living area smells like a garbage dump. Five minutes later and Iwaizumi is practically dying of laughter.

“You have no idea how much our high school friends and I wanted to do this to him,” Iwaizumi tells them, “so thanks guys.”

“You wanted to dump trash all over him?” Sato asks, unsure.

“Not that specifically, just knock him down a peg or two.”

Kuroo snorts. “Your welcome?”

“Iwa-chan is so mean!” Oikawa wails, wiping away his fake tears. “What did I ever do to deserve this.”

Iwaizumi gives his friend a side-glance, who returns it with his kicked-puppy look Sato only sees him use on Iwaizumi. They hold a stare-off for a few solid seconds.

Iwaizumi gives in, his hand going up to ruffle Oikawa’s brown locks with uncharacteristic tenderness, a fond smile etched on his lips. “Alright alright, I was only joking.”

The wide, dimpled smile Oikawa gives Iwaizumi in return practically blinds Sato.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trash + Oikawa = Trashykawa. I am not sorry.


	3. to make an apple pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all, no matter how abysmal Kuroo’s culinary skills are, as long as Sato’s here to supervise, what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellllllo, did anyone miss me? No? Okay. 
> 
> Honestly I’m having too much fun writing this, and since it’s more like a short story compilation than a story with plot, if y’all have any prompt suggestions don’t hesitate to inbox/leave a comment! 
> 
> Also, thank you so so much for the comments and kudos, I read every single comment, I just didn’t want to reply because I might end up spoiling the next few chapters I had in mind (one hit realllly close). Honestly, comments are like a writer’s Red Bull, so thank you again! 
> 
> Without further ado:

“Hey Sato, your family runs a bakery right? You know how to bake?” Kuroo asks him out of the blue one breezy autumn day. 

“I know a bit. I helped my dad in the kitchen during my summer breaks,” Sato answers dutifully, wondering if Kuroo wants to bake something. 

“Oh that’s great! So do you know how to make an apple pie?” 

“I’ve never made it myself, but our bakery does sell them so I can ask my dad. Do you want to make it?” Sato asks, though he already knows the answer. 

Kuroo rubs the side of his neck. “Yeah, Kenma’s birthday is on Friday. Our friends are going to throw a surprise party for him after his volleyball practice, and I’m in charge of bringing the cake. But then Kenma likes apple pie, so I thought, why not bring apple pie instead.” 

Sato hums. “Any particular reason why you want it homemade?” He’s not averse to helping Kuroo, he’s just curious as to why someone who nearly exploded their kitchen by putting a raw egg, with its shell and all, in the microwave oven would suddenly want to bake. 

“He’s getting stressed because university early admissions and all. Thought it’d cheer him up,” he explains. 

Sato feels oddly touched. “Sure, I’ll help you make it. You’ll even get to taste our family’s secret apple sauce.” He’s always happy to help out a friend.

Kuroo looks at him, his eyes practically sparkling with joy. “Thanks man, I owe you one.” 

That is how Sato gets roped into spending his Friday afternoon helping Kuroo bake an apple pie. No matter how abysmal Kuroo’s culinary skills are, as long as Sato’s here to supervise, what could go wrong?

On Thursday evening, Sato and Kuroo head to the nearest grocery store to shop for raw ingredients. Kuroo even forewent extra volleyball practice to make it to the store one hour before closing, much to Oikawa’s very vocal surprise. 

“We need baking flour, butter, sugar…” Sato mutters to himself. Their kitchen isn’t stocked for baking, or for cooking anything fancier than breakfast foods for that matter, so they need to buy a lot of things. He asked his father for the easy version for their family’s recipe, and his father delivered, even teaching him how to make the crust from scratch. 

Sato has looked over the instructions, and he figures they should make the crust from scratch; it tastes infinitely better than the premade ones and it doesn’t take that long anyway. 

“So we don’t need these?” Kuroo clarifies, holding up the box of frozen premade pie crust. 

“No, we’re making it ourselves,” Sato says, tossing a bag of refined sugar into their basket. “Wait actually…it’s only 500¥ right? Then just buy it in case we screw up.” It’s both their first times making pie, and Sato really doesn’t want it to end in a flop, for Kozume’s sake. 

Into the basket comes the box of premade crust as they head to the produce section.

“So I’m assuming we’re making the apple filling from scratch too?” 

“Yup. Trust me, Kozume-san will like it.” Their homemade apple pie is one of the Sato family’s bestsellers after all.

“You are a godsend,” Kuroo says in awe. Sato can’t help but be pleased with the compliment. 

They buy a dozen Fuji apples and toss them into the basket, along with some bananas because why not. 

They then head towards the baking equipment aisle, where they get a round pie pan, a baking brush, measuring cups, a proper kitchen knife (because Sato is definitely not peeling apples with a butter knife), and finally replaces their spatula. 

Once Sato has checked that they have bought everything they need, they head to the checkout to pay, and Kuroo grumbles about being bled dry as he swipes his card. 

They head back to their flat and begins putting their groceries away just as Oikawa steps out of his bedroom, freshly showered. 

“I didn’t think you were actually going grocery shopping. What for?” He says, grabbing milk from the fridge.

“Baking ingredients. It’s Kenma’s birthday and we’re making him apple pie. Or more like Sato’s making it and I’m helping him.” 

“Sato knows how to bake? How cool, can you make milk bread?” 

“Um…no.” Sato thinks milk bread should be easy enough to make, but his family bakery doesn’t sell them, so he’s not sure. 

“Aw, I would’ve definitely hired you as my in-house cook if you could,” Oikawa says, and he actually sounds disappointed that Sato makes note to look up the recipe later. 

Sato finishes storing the apples in the fridge, then rearranges the ingredients on the counter so they are easily accessible for tomorrow. 

“What time do you have to leave for Nekoma?” 

Kuroo taps his chin. “Around five.” 

“Lecture gets out at three…I think we’ll have enough time, but do you want to make the dough tonight?” Sato asks, mapping out a timeline in his mind. Making the dough itself would only take twenty minutes tops, but then it has to set in the fridge for at least an hour, and Sato doesn’t want to risk it tomorrow when time is rather tight. 

“Whatever you decide, chef.” Kuroo mock salutes. 

Sato wastes no time in instructing Kuroo to bring the ingredients he needs: flour, sugar, unsalted butter and ice water as he takes out a large bowl and wooden spoon. 

“Two and a half cups of all purpose flour and two teaspoons sugar…” Sato reads from his phone as he scoops the flour with the measuring cup. 

“Oh, almost forgot, but Kenma doesn’t like sweet things. Like the guy orders 0% sugar bubble tea, so you can imagine.” 

Sato doesn’t think he knows anyone who actually does that until now. “I’ll make the filling unsweetened then.” He lowers the sugar count to one.

After he adds the salt and sugar to the bowl, he hands it to Kuroo for him to do the brunt work as he rereads the instructions for homemade pie crust. 

Next, his father told him to cut the unsalted butter into small cubes and mix. After that, add in a quarter cup of sour cream and mix again.

The butter is slightly soft from the trip, saving them the waiting game. Sato opens up the wrapping and begins cutting a portion it into small cubes. In the background, Kuroo and Oikawa strike up a conversation; he hasn’t even realized Oikawa is still here.

When he’s finished with the butter, he eyeballs around one cup of butter and dumps them into the mixing bowl. “My dad says to squeeze the flour into the butter with your hands, it’ll mix better this way.” 

Kuroo dutifully puts his long, lithe fingers to good use. Sato guiltily thinks that he could get used to having an assistant do all the bad parts of baking. 

“So it’s Kozume-kun’s birthday tomorrow? What a great househusband you are,” Oikawa’s voice floats in between the white noises. Without turning around, Sato knows Oikawa is referring to Kuroo despite both of them being involved in making this apple pie. 

“It’s called being _nice_ to your friend, probably something you’ve never done.” 

“How rude. I’m the best friend someone can possibly have,” Oikawa sniffs. “I took Iwa-chan to see Godzilla: King of Monsters when it came out.”

“Is that something to be proud of…anyway Sato, is this okay?” 

Sato looks up from the instructions when his name is called. He peers into the mixing bowl, trying not to be worried about the mixture looking like a potato salad more so than batter. “A little more. It should be more paste-like, then I’ll add in the sour cream.”

“Sour cream in pie?” Oikawa asks, bewildered. “They go together?”

“Says the person who eats French fries with ice cream unironically.” 

“You have the taste equivalent to an old man—”

“I’m just following my dad’s instructions,” Sato tells Oikawa, putting an end to their senseless bickering. “I’ve never made it before myself.” 

“Oh, your family runs a bakery right? Can papa Sato make milk bread then?” 

“I’ll…try asking him.”

The butter begins to melt, being exposed to body temperature and thus making it easier for Kuroo to mix. Sato doesn’t want it to completely melt and become goop, so he adds in the half cup of sour cream and tells Kuroo to continue giving the batter a massage. 

“Is baking always this tiring?” Kuroo asks, no doubt beginning to feel the ache in his forearms. 

“Not if you have a mixer, but we don’t,” Sato says. 

“I think Loft sells them, you should buy it if you’re going to bake often,” Oikawa suggests. 

Kuroo gives him a deadpan. “You just want free food don’t you.” 

“I can help!”

“Please no. We want to live, thanks.” 

“Like you are any better, Kuroo, don’t think I don’t know you tried to boil pasta without putting in oil!” 

“Wha—how’d you…well you melted the spatula!” 

“Are you going to keep bringing that up!”

Sato chews on an apple as he watches his roommates nominate each other for the title of ‘worst kitchen disaster’. So far, Oikawa’s ‘broke the rice cooker by adding in too much water’ incident is leading by a wide margin; Sato’s honestly surprised their kitchen hasn’t burst into flames yet. 

Once the dough feels soft and clumpy enough to mold, Sato gets out the saran wrap and instructs Kuroo to roll the dough into a huge ball. It’s then cut into two equal parts: one for the base and one for the top, then wrapped with non-stick plastic wrap. After the doughs are wrapped up, they are put in the fridge until it’s time to make the actual pie tomorrow afternoon. 

Sato desperately hopes nothing will go wrong; Murphy can take his law and stuff it where the sun don’t shine. 

Friday afternoon starts off well. Their lecture ends slightly early, making them ahead of schedule, and Oikawa even promises to come back and be “moral support” after his group meeting. 

“Moral support my ass, he probably just wants to make fun of me,” Kuroo says disbelievingly after Oikawa is out of earshot. 

They return to their flat, where Sato immediately takes out the two dough balls to let them warm up to room temperature. It’s time to make the apple filling then bake, hopefully finishing within two hours. 

Like yesterday, Sato gives Kuroo the menial task of apple-peeling as he readies the stove to make the sauce. Following to the instructions, he turns the heat up to medium, then puts in 8 tablespoons of butter followed by three for flour, stirring when the wooden spoon to make sure they don’t burn. 

He then adds in half a cup of water. His father told him to add a cup of sugar, but remembering that Kozume doesn’t like sweet foods, he forgoes that step; the apples should already be sweet in itself. After a few minutes of simmering with continuous stirring, the sauce takes on a syrupy consistency. 

“I’m done with the sauce,” Sato says. He turns off the heat, letting the sauce cool before mixing it with the apples. 

“That was fast.” 

Sato picks up the knife and helps Kuroo peel the apples. They have over an hour and a half to go, so Sato’s not worried. The pop music playing from Kuroo’s phone provides a nice background noise as they work in silence, trying not to accidentally skin their own fingers. 

Their front door opens with a beep, followed by footsteps. Oikawa is back. The man chirps out an exuberant greeting, dumping his bag in the sofa and coming over to the kitchen. 

“Kuroo!” Oikawa singsongs, sounding too happy it gives Sato an ominous feeling. “I got you something from the thrift store.” 

“What.” 

“Ta-daa,” Oikawa holds up a white apron, brandishing it with a flourish. The idea itself isn’t so bad, except for the font written in big black letters along the chest area. 

“‘I heart my wife’,” Sato reads flatly. 

The recipient himself doesn’t look too impressed either. “Just why. If anything, Sato’s more like a househusband since he can actually bake.” 

“Sato is a cook, you’re a househusband,” Oikawa says simply, and the line of thought probably makes sense in his own mind. “Come on, turn around and put it on!” 

“No! Are you sure you’re not lutein deficient? Because there’s something wrong with your e—”

Someone’s phone rings, cutting Kuroo off. Sato realizes that it’s his, and quickly puts down the knife to answer it. 

“Yuma!” His girlfriend says immediately. “How are you?” 

“Good good, just baking with my roommates.” Sato feels tension leave his shoulders at her voice. It’s been too long since they talked. “Wait a sec, okay?” Sato says, before turning to Kuroo. “I’m going to leave for a while. Once you’re done with the apples, put in one teaspoon of cinnamon powder and nutmeg, half teaspoon of vanilla extract, and then mix with the sauce, okay?” 

“Wait! What cinnamon powder?” 

Sato holds back from making a face. He takes out the vanilla extract they bought yesterday, along with his personal stash of spices that his parents packed for him from home. “Half teaspoon of this,” he holds up the bottle of vanilla extract. “One teaspoon from the red box, and one from the green box. Afterwards, pour my sauce in, and then mix.” 

“Got it,” Kuroo says, and he sounds more confident this time, to Sato’s relief. 

“It’s okay, Sato, I’ll help,” Oikawa chimes in, and outside the kitchen, that might have sounded reassuring. But Sato could hardly be blamed for not trusting the guy who once melted a spatula with his cooking. 

“Okay, I’ll be quick,” Sato promises, then retreating into the privacy of his room to talk with his girlfriend. 

His girlfriend provides temporary stress relief from his hectic life in Tokyo, and as much as he wants to spend all day talking, he has a moral duty not to leave Oikawa and Kuroo unsupervised in the kitchen for too long. Promising to call back later, he ends the call and heads back to the kitchen. 

He sees the mixing bowl sitting peacefully on the counter, all the apples sliced and peeled and covered in a light brown sauce—Kuroo must have already added in the spices for it to have turned this colour. 

Sato lets out a relieved sigh. “You actually did it.” 

Kuroo leaps from the couch, “of course I did, Masterchef here I come.” 

Maybe he did underestimate Kuroo’s ability to follow basic culinary instructions. Sato looks at the time on his phone; if they can get the pie into the oven in ten minutes, then Kuroo should be able to comfortably leave on time. 

“Kuroo, can you crack an egg and beat it please? As if you’re making an omelette,” Sato says as he unwraps the two balls of dough from the Saran Wrap and sprinkles flour onto the counter. It’s time to quickly roll out the dough and… “shit.” 

“Why, what’s wrong?” 

“We don’t have a rolling pin,” Sato says. He would have slapped himself if his hands aren’t covered in flour. How could he have forgotten one of the most important tools in baking. “We need to roll out the dough so it’s flat.” 

Kuroo curses. “Do we have time to go to the store?” 

“I don’t think they sell it there, because if I saw it I would have remembered and bought it,” Sato says, panic rising in him. Maybe they can use the store bought pie crust, since it’s already packaged in a bowl shape…

“Um guys, what about a bottle?” Oikawa asks, going to the fridge and pulling out his cylindrical bottle of sparkling water. Sato gives the bottle a once over: not the best, but they don’t exactly have many options at the moment.

“It’ll do, thanks. You mind if I fill it with water? I’ll buy you another later.” 

“Oh my God,” Kuroo says, leaning into a wall. “I could kiss you right now, Oikawa.”

“Please don’t.”

So Sato is now rolling out a piece of dough with a bottle; not the weirdest thing he’s done, but it’s definitely within the realms of ‘normal’ for room 313 so far. After he’s done, he folds his slightly messy handiwork and places it gently into the pie pan, letting the edges droop over slightly. 

“Can you help put the filling inside?” Sato asks Kuroo as he works on the second ball of dough that would cover the top. If he does this quickly enough, there might even be time to do a lattice top.

Sato makes quick work of the second dough, becoming used to using a bottle as a rolling pin. He sets aside the rolled dough just as Kuroo is done piling the filling into the pie pan. 

“What next?” 

“I’ll just spread some egg over the edges, then we’ll glue this other dough on top and bake it for one hour.” 

“Sounds good.” 

But Sato then finds out the things are not good after all. As he spreads the beaten egg over the edges with the baking brush, he notices something off about the pie, but he can’t seem to put his finger on it. He did everything to the T, so there should be nothing wrong with it, but…

“You put the spices in, right?” 

“Yup.” 

“The correct amount?” 

“One teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg and half teaspoon of vanilla?” 

What Kuroo said is correct, so in theory, the pie should be okay. Call it instincts or whatever, but Sato still feels that something’s wrong. 

“Sorry, let me taste a bit of the filling, just to make sure,” Sato says, grabbing a clean spoon and taking an apple slice from the pie. 

He puts it into his mouth, and chokes. 

This isn’t good. He didn’t want his intuition to be right, but alas, it is. 

“Kuroo…” 

Kuroo looks at him with trepidation. “Y-yes?”

“You…you put curry powder into the filling.” 

Kuroo’s face turns as white as a sheet as Sato’s words hit him.

Pandemonium ensues. 

“Guys!” Oikawa shouts, and Sato stops beating himself up long enough to listen. “Panicking isn’t going to fix this, Sato, tell us what we need to do to remake this pie.” 

“It’s already too late. This takes one hour to bake. If we remake it, Kuroo won’t make it in time.”

“No wait,” Kuroo says, running his hands through his hair repeatedly. “I can leave at five-thirty, it’s okay. I can still make it if I taxi, so please Sato. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but is there any way we can make another pie?”

“Thirty minutes is barely enough,” Sato says, his mind racing, his heart pumping with adrenaline. Though it could work, since Sato’s apple filling doesn’t take too long to make, and they have the premade pie crust…

“Maybe we can. Can you go to the cafeteria and buy as many sliced apples as you can? Peeled if you can, but if not that’s okay.” This is going to hit Kuroo’s wallet hard, but right now Sato feels no sympathy for the man. 

“Anything else?”

“No.” 

Sato brings out the saucepan again to make round two off his filling the moment Kuroo is out the door. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Oikawa offers. He’s hovering around awkwardly, looking very out of his element in the kitchen. Sato appreciates the sentiment though.

“Yeah, do me a favour and nuke this abomination please,” Sato deadpans, nudging the curry powder infused apple pie towards Oikawa. How these two managed to confuse cinnamon and nutmeg for curry powder is beyond Sato’s comprehension; Gordon Ramsey would burst an aneurysm if he was here.

“Okay, but is it that bad though?”

“Try it and you’ll see.” 

Oikawa does. He cuts himself a small piece and brings it to his mouth. The reaction is instantaneous. “O-oh my God, what the fuck, it’s in my nose!” 

“Seriously, did you guys dump a whole ladleful inside? The taste of curry is strong enough to pass as curry itself.”

“No, we really only put in one teaspoon!” Oikawa insists. Sato is doubtful, but he doesn’t press for more; what’s done is done. He opens the fridge to gather the ingredients for the filling, but runs into another problem.

Murphy’s law is really hitting them hard right now. 

“Oikawa, sorry, but can you get me a stick of butter. Any brand will do, just make it unsalted.” 

“Butter? From where?” 

“Check Family Mart, if not, you need to run to the grocery store near the social sciences building. Take the bus, it’s quicker.” 

“It’s okay, I have a bike,” Oikawa calls out, already grabbing his wallet and phone from his bag. “Call me if you need anything else.” 

“Unsalted!” Sato yells for good measure as Oikawa disappears through the door, and all there is left now is silence and the gnawing anxiety in Sato’s gut.

Kuroo comes back quickly with enough apple slices to last them a week, and this time, they mix in the correct set of spices in the correct amount as Oikawa too returns with the unsalted butter, and it is through the haze of panic with a tinge of dissociation that Sato pulls through with enough sanity left to spare. 

The sauce is made and piled onto the premade crust, the top is covered and cut through, and the pie is finally in the oven after considerable delay. Only then does Sato relax, slumping onto the sofa because his legs can’t support himself for a minute longer. 

“God…thank you so much, don’t know what I’d do without you two,” Kuroo says, his voice mellow. His hair is in disarray, and his shirt is sticking to his body with sweat and batter. 

“I’m still amazed you can’t differentiate between cinnamon and curry powder…” Sato mutters.

“Kuroo,” Oikawa nudges Kuroo with his foot. “Go shower, you’re a mess.” 

“ A hot one though.”

The excitement dies down as they all wait for the pie to finish baking. Once again, they realize they have forgotten an important thing: about how to transport the piping hot apple pie from their flat to Nekoma. But that problem pales in comparison to what they’ve been through, and is easily solved with Sato’s reusable shopping bag.

They call Kuroo a taxi when the pie is almost done, and all but shoves Kuroo out the door when it is because the man is supposed to meet his former team in fifteen minutes and he is very late. 

One burden off his shoulders, now the next:

“…We’re going to have to clean this up, right?” Oikawa says, and it comes out more as a statement than a question. 

Sato looks on dejectedly at their tsunami wreckage of a kitchen. For a split second, he contemplates just ignoring it until Kuroo comes back, but he’s an adult now, and he’s going to be responsible. “Yes we are.” 

Sato’s annoyance all but dissipates though when, a few hours later, he receives a certain LINE message from a user with a cat profile picture: 

**Kozume K.** : 

thank you for the pie, Sato-san. It was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lutein deficiency is associated with macular (eye) degeneration.


	4. Gorilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a woman, the nickname ‘gorilla’ would be unbefitting and borderline offensive. But for a stocky, 6-foot male athlete with wide biceps and even wider shoulders, not so much. 

  
Sato is enjoying his dinner, his iPad propped up in front of him playing an anime. He managed to finish most of his required readings, his 5k word essay still has a week until it’s due, and he’s expecting a call from his girlfriend soon. Life is currently good. 

He’s jolted back to reality by the slam of his front door. His two roommates are back and are being loud about it. 

“Chill, you don’t want to break the shoe rack again,” comes Kuroo’s voice, to which Oikawa says something unintelligible. 

“Hey guys, thought you said you’d be out late?” Sato asks. They had told Sato that they would be drinking with the volleyball team to celebrate their win against their rival college team, or something. Thus, Sato is understandably surprised when they come back at nine and completely sober. Not that Sato minds that they’re back, though it did come in exchange for much-needed peace and quiet. 

“We did, but Mr. Hardworking,” Kuroo jabs his thumb at Oikawa behind him, “wanted to come back and _read Tort cases_ after pregame.” 

“I never asked you to come back with me. You could have gone to the student union with the rest of them.” It doesn’t take Sherlock to deduce that Oikawa’s not in the best of moods right now. Sato wonders if something had happened to set the man off at pregame.

At Oikawa’s frosty tone, Kuroo raises his hands in surrender. “I’m not that a big a drinker. You never did say—”

“Whatever…just, sorry, can I have the shower first? I promise I won’t take long.” Oikawa’s voice went from angry to snappish to dejected so fast, Sato has emotional whiplash from just watching. 

Kuroo waves him off with a nod, to which Oikawa cracks the barest of smiles before disappearing into his room. Kuroo makes his way to where Sato is sitting at the coffee table and slumps onto the sofa behind him, dumping his sports bag on the floor beside him; Sato catches a whiff of strong deodorant and a hint of cigarette smoke. 

Sato only barely manages to contain his curiosity long enough until he hears the telltale click of the bathroom door locking. “Did something happen?” 

Letting out a huge sigh, Kuroo says, “not that I know of. We were playing drinking games with the team and it was pretty fun. But then when it was time to head to the union Oikawa was suddenly like ‘I have work to do, I’m going home’ and me, being a nice friend, came back with him and well, as you can see, he’s still pissy.” 

“Huh.” No matter how hardworking Oikawa is, he’s not a stick-in-the-mud. It’s definitely strikes Sato odd for Oikawa to decline time with his friends in favour of studying. 

“And the kicker is, not even Iwaizumi knows what’s up. He did call bullshit though, but Oikawa was all like ‘a dim-witted gorilla like Iwa-chan would never understand the concept of revising for exams’, Kuroo makes his voice nasal and high in a poor imitation of Oikawa, “and then Iwaizumi got mad.”

Sato can’t even begin to fathom the friendship dynamics between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “Maybe he wasn’t having fun and wanted out?” 

“Maybe. Hopefully he’s back to normal by tomorrow.” 

Sato’s phone rings at that moment, and it’s his girlfriend wanting to FaceTime. He quickly excuses himself and goes back to his room to take the call.

One hour later Sato is emotionally recharged. He goes back into the kitchen, intending to wash up the crockery and cutlery he used for dinner. He sees Oikawa by the fridge, and he involuntary tenses up, remembering the other’s foul mood earlier on. He hears the shower run distantly in the background; no Kuroo for back up, he’s on his own. 

“Hey,” Sato says carefully, catching the other’s attention. “Are you…feeling better now?” 

Oikawa shuts the fridge, a small glass bottle in hand. His hair is damp and flattened out of its usual artfully tousled style, giving him a milder, tamer look. “Yeah, sorry about that just now. I was just a little…irritated.” 

“It’s okay, we all have bad days.” Sato is more relaxed now since Oikawa seems to have mellowed out, he even dares to add in a little joke. “You didn’t bail on the party to actually study, did you?” 

“Oh heavens, no. I just didn’t feel like destroying my liver, you know, unlike some people.” 

Sato bites his lip to stop himself from pointing out that they just drank at their classmate’s birthday party only a week ago. No need to poke the sleeping dragon in the eye. “That’s good. Do you guys go drink every time you win a match?” 

“Nah, this is a special case since our captain has a bone to pick with the other team’s captain.” Oikawa says as he opens the bottle, drops a few droplets into his fingertips, then gently lathers it onto his face in small circles. The act has Sato drawing parallels with his girlfriend, remembering her doing the same thing whenever he stays over at her place. 

“I see.” 

Oikawa finishes with his skincare and puts the bottle back into the fridge. No homo, but Sato notices, actually notices for the first time that Oikawa’s face is practically flawless: no acne, no blemishes, and it even looks like it’s glowing, with the ceiling light reflected off his smooth, creamy-white skin, highlighting his cheekbones and pointy nose. “Hmm? Is something wrong?” 

Sato jolts, the soapy plate almost slipping from his hands. “N-nothing. Just um, wondering what you put on your face just now.” 

“Oh, this?” Oikawa points to himself. “Sacchan gave it to me. It’s a vitamin C serum, it’s supposed to prevent the oxidation of your skin cells from free radicals, so your skin doesn’t get all damaged and wrinkly in the sun. This brand is pretty good.” 

Sato has no idea who ‘Sacchan’ is, nor did he know what a vitamin C serum was before this, so he just nods, glad that he was able to get out of being called a creep for staring at his roommate for too long. 

“Anyways, see you in the morning, if I don’t decide to skip,” Oikawa says cheerily, heading back to his room and leaving Sato slightly confused with himself. To makes matters worse, Kuroo leaves the bathroom half-naked again, and Sato gets a full 1080p view of his Adonis-esque back and shoulder. The most frustrating part is that Kuroo isn’t even flexing; just walking normally and trailing droplets of water behind him, but he still looks like he could be an underwear model.

Really now, why is he roommates with the top bachelors of their faculty again?

He finishes up the washing, deciding to muffle his inadequacies with another episode of anime. He makes himself comfortable at his desk, iPad charged and AirPods plugged into his ears as he hums along to the latest One Piece opening…

“’m _not_!” Oikawa shouts, low and feral, followed by a loud slam. 

The cork board vibrates. Papers flutter. Sato almost pisses his pants.

He blinks owlishly, spooked by the sudden aggression from the other side. It seems Oikawa’s mood is back to being sour again; how many personas does this man have?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. How can someone like Oikawa-san possibly be jealous of a gorilla like that?” He hears Oikawa say with astounding clarity, even with the opening song playing into his AirPods, and he realizes that it’s because Oikawa’s bed is sharing the same wall as his desk. “No, I was just mad that I was ignored, stop spouting nonsense!”

Intrigued, Sato stops the video, and silence fills the room momentarily, before: “okay, fucking fine! I was, happy?” 

Sato is too surprised by the newfound information to properly contemplate the ethics of eavesdropping on what is supposed to be a private conversation. Oikawa Tooru, volleyball and debate extraordinaire and one of the biggest playboys Sato has known, actually has feelings for someone? His fan club would be frothing at the mouth if they find out. 

“Fuck. I didn’t think…” Oikawa says, followed by something too soft to be coherent. Sato takes off his AirPods. “Wha—obvious? Excuse me,” he demands, his pitch going high. “No fuck you, you and Makki were practically eye-fucking each other through last year!” 

Oikawa has never cursed this much in one sitting. Whoever he’s talking to—Sato would wager it’s his high school friend— is good at riling people up, probably as good at it as Kuroo is. Or he’s just used to pushing Oikawa’s buttons.

“Confess? Are you crazy? I already told you I can’t...” his voice is softer, more scared, and Sato actually feels a little bad now. “I literally…today he literally just…thick and curvy…” Sato has to strain to hear because Oikawa’s voice is declining back to a normal speaking volume, and it’s becoming too disjointed for Sato to glean anything from it.

“It’s not the same as you and Makki… actually likes you…ah, shit, my battery’s down…” that’s all Sato hears until Oikawa’s voice fades off into indiscernible murmurs. He probably moved to charge his phone. 

Sato gathers his three remaining brain cells to do some sleuthing. He probably should put them to better use, but he’s too excited about Oikawa Tooru’s secret crush. 

‘ _How can someone like Oikawa-san possibly be jealous of a gorilla like that?’_

Oikawa is definitely jealous because likes someone; nothing from these words can be misconstrued otherwise. Though Sato really has to wonder why Oikawa would refer to himself in third person, especially with the honorific ‘-san’. 

More importantly, from what he heard, he can infer that Oikawa’s crush is a very physically strong person, since she’s referred to as a ‘ _gorilla_ ’, of all things. A weird nickname for a crush, but to each their own. 

The first person Sato comes up with is their classmate Yamada in the boxing team. Her muscular arms and broad shoulders put most guys to shame. 

But then Sato realizes, to his disappointment, that it can’t be someone from university, because it seems like Oikawa has had this crush since last year, and his friend back in high school knew about it then. 

If it’s someone from Aoba Johsai, then Sato wouldn’t know this person anyway, and that puts an end to his Sherlock-ing. It is pretty surprising though; for someone who goes out of his way to flirt with their female classmates every day and boasting an average of a confession a week to himself have a one-sided crush. 

Regardless of of his playboy tendencies, Oikawa is an ‘all-in’ type of person, and Sato can tell, despite only being knowing Oikawa for only a while, that if Oikawa gets together with this girl, he won’t cheat on her. The girl herself must also be something, to be able to catch and hold Oikawa Tooru’s attention for this long even with hordes of other girls fawning over him. 

Sato telepathically sends his regards to the other before putting his AirPods back in and resuming the video. 

Over the next few days, Oikawa shows no traces of his bad mood that day, being back to his normal self and flirting with his fans, and Sato almost thinks he’s hallucinated the conversation last night. There are also no more heart-attack inducing outbursts, much to Sato’s relief. The status quo quickly returns to room 313, until one evening Sato returns from his part-time job to find Oikawa and Kuroo huddled together in the kitchen, and that is enough to trigger Sato’s fight or flight. 

“What. Are you guys doing,” Sato asks in horror, already mapping out an exit route in his head in case something catches fire. 

“Nothing!” Oikawa immediately says, which makes it all the more suspicious, and that’s not to mention the bits of flour stuck to his hands and face. “This is stupid, I’m not doing this anymore, I’ll just buy it from the grocery store.” 

“Oya? Are you giving up already, what happened to that determination two hours ago?” Kuroo goads, but Oikawa does not take the bait. 

“It’ll just get burnt again anyway.” Oikawa puts the knife down with more force than necessary. “Sato, free ingredients for you. Make something good for dinner please.” 

Oikawa stomps past him and back into his room. Sato catches a glimpse of reddening ears and neck before the door slams. 

Even though it’s good for the collective safety of this apartment’s residents, he still feels guilty that his presence embarrassed Oikawa to the point of throwing in the towel. 

“Um…I’m sorry?” Sato offers. 

Kuroo laughs, shrugging off the stained ‘I heart my wife’ apron. “Don’t be. To be honest, you just saved this last batch from ending up in the trash.” He rolls down the sleeves of his shirt and dusts the flour off his pants. 

Coming closer to Kuroo, Sato sees a slab of tofu arranged on the cutting board, surrounded by many bottles of soy sauce and Mirin. If Sato has to guess, he’d say they were trying to make…“agedashi tofu?”

“Yup. As expected of our resident cook.” 

“Oh, did you guys want to eat this? You could have asked me, it only takes like twenty minutes,” Sato says, his worries of an impending fire replaced with mirth as he eyes the dustbin filled with suspicious brown clumps. 

“Hmm…I guess it’s okay to tell you this. Oikawa and Iwaizumi somehow had a small argument, and Oikawa, despite his heart being frozen over, feels a smidgen of guilt because, technically it’s his fault. So he wanted to make it up to Iwaizumi with agedashi tofu. Iwaizumi likes this shit,” Kuroo adds. Agedashi tofu isn’t a usual ‘I’m sorry’ gift, but it makes sense to make something the recipient likes. 

“…And as you can see, it’s not going too well. I’m pretty sure Iwaizumi will get colon cancer if he eats this.” Kuroo gestures to the dustbin. “Anyways, we’re going to buy the premade ones from the store tomorrow, so do whatever you want with this, actually, do you think we can have miso soup?” 

While miso soup does sound nice, Sato’s empathetic to Oikawa’s plight. It’s not like he’s never had to cook ‘I’m sorry’ gifts for before, so he understands. “Should I make the agedashi tofu? Then Oikawa wouldn’t have to buy it at the store.” 

“Actually that sounds good. I’m sure yours will taste better than the store’s anyway.” 

With that, Sato sets out to prepare non-carcinogenic agedashi tofu while Kuroo orders in dinner for them. Agedashi tofu is pretty simple to cook, because the tofu itself is already made, and only needs to be coated with potato starch and deep fried. That’s probably where Oikawa and Kuroo screwed up, if the blotchy brown clumps in the dustbin were anything to go by.

While he also needs to make the broth for the agedashi tofu, that only requires a few basic ingredients; not hard work at all. And since Oikawa has already bought everything he needs, this will take no time at all.

Their sushi delivery arrives just as Sato finishes with the broth. It’s not Michelin-star restaurant food for sure, but Sato thinks it’ll taste fine nonetheless. He opens the shelf, bringing down his three-compartment bento box, and arranges the tofu, broth, and toppings of grated daikon and spring onions into the box. 

“Holy shit that looks like something you get in an izakaya,” Kuroo comments, setting the sushi on the counter. “I actually want to eat this now.” 

“I can make more as long as we have the ingredients for it,” Sato says, face flushing with the praise. Since the tofu has already cooled down enough, he closes the lid of the bento box and makes to put it in the fridge, but Kuroo stops him. 

“Let Oikawa see it first. I bet he’s going to cry.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

Oikawa, in fact, does not. But he does pull Sato into a tight, grateful hug, the smile on his face probably bright enough to power a solar panel. Luckily, Sato doesn’t have time to think about how Oikawa’s citrus body soap smells a little too good before he’s let go. 

“Itadakimasu!”

A smile inadvertently tugs onto Sato’s face when Oikawa happily piles sushi onto his plate, humming a catchy tune. Oikawa has that effect on people; whatever he’s feeling is projected to his surroundings, drawing other people in and aligning their emotions to his own. In this regard, it’s easy to see how he became captain of a highly ranked volleyball team.

*

The next day, Sato doesn’t even need to ask Oikawa what Iwaizumi thinks of his agedashi tofu, because the man in question tells him in person, and this at least shows that they’ve reconciled, and that things are truly back to normal. Iwaizumi is, unsurprisingly, their most frequent guest, and the Paracetamol for the headache that Sato’s roommates sometimes are, no offense to them. 

So Sato doesn’t even bat an eyelash when he comes back to the sight of Oikawa and Iwaizumi in the living area, sitting side by side with electronics and textbooks strewn across the coffee table, along with a box of cut fruit; another reason to appreciate Iwaizumi in their flat. 

“Yahoo, Sato!” 

“The tofu was delicious,” Iwaizumi says in lieu of a greeting. “Sorry you had to go through the trouble because this guy doesn’t know basic household skills—” 

“I know how to clean,” Oikawa says petulantly, but Iwaizumi ignores him. 

“—I washed your bentou box, it’s in the drying rack.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, and it’s no big deal, I like cooking,” Sato says, stealing a strawberry from the fruit platter. He sees a textbook on the table that is decidedly not Oikawa’s, and a question pops into his head. “Iwaizumi-san, you major in sports science?” 

“Ah, yes I—”

“It’s so fitting, right? For a someone like him,” Oikawa interrupts, slinging his arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Iwa-chan only knows how to—Ow ow! That hurts, you gorilla!”

“Stop calling me a gorilla!”

“No wayyy you abusive gorilla. That’s what you get for hitting me so much!” 

“If you stop being idiotic, then maybe I won’t have to hit you so much.”

Iwaizumi lets go of Oikawa, and the latter rubs his wrist, letting out an exaggerated whine. But Sato’s more distracted by what Oikawa said, a sense of déjà vu washing over him. 

Oikawa called Iwaizumi a gorilla. 

_‘How can someone like Oikawa-san possibly be jealous of a gorilla like that?’_ Oikawa’s words ring loud and clear in his head as he thinks back to that night.

For a woman, the nickname ‘gorilla’ would be unbefitting and borderline offensive. But for a stocky, 6-foot male athlete with wide biceps and even wider shoulders— Sato has seen Iwaizumi beat Kuroo at arm wrestling with his own two eyes— not so much. 

And Iwaizumi and Oikawa both came from the same high school, Sato realizes. A lightbulb flickers on in his head.

One look at the right moment is all it takes. Iwaizumi has Oikawa’s head in a headlock, their bodies flush together as Oikawa pinches Iwaizumi’s thighs in retaliation: The rosy pink dusting his cheeks, the tapering of his eyes as he laughs unguardedly, calling Iwaizumi names they know he doesn’t mean, and that star struck expression when Iwaizumi smooths out his tangled hair afterward. They’re gone so quick that it’s barely noticeable, but Sato just happens to be looking. 

Suddenly everything makes sense and the signs all congruent: their dynamics, Oikawa’s phone call, and the situation thus far. It was Iwaizumi all along. 

Oikawa likes Iwaizumi. Oikawa was jealous that night because of Iwaizumi. Oikawa even attempted to cook for Iwaizumi despite being shit in the kitchen. 

Sato’s opinion on Oikawa has just flipped on itself, because if falling for your best friend isn’t the sweetest, most classic thing Sato has ever seen, he doesn’t know what is. Never mind that the mental image of Oikawa and a faceless girl on a sweet date has just been replaced with one Iwaizumi Hajime, hair-loss inducing noogies, and a lot of slaps. 

Now Sato is fully aware that Oikawa is a man, and that Iwaizumi is also a man. Sato has never had a gay friend before—not in his small, conservative town, how blasphemous— so the fact that Oikawa’s into men sits oddly with Sato. 

But that’s just it: odd. He’s not disgusted, and he’s not scared either. There’s no reason to be, because even though Oikawa likes men, even though he likes Iwaizumi, it’s got no bearing on how he interacts with Sato. Oikawa liking men is probably as odd to Sato as Kuroo sleeping with two pillows to his face, or Iwaizumi’s love for agedashi tofu, or his girlfriend’s devotion to BTS; it’s just the idiosyncrasies of each individual that make up who they are.

“Iwa-chan is mean and violent, why do I even hang out with you,” Oikawa grumbles, but with that soft gaze directed at Iwaizumi, no one takes his insult seriously. “Sato, about that serial arsonist case…” 

They discuss about their presentation due tomorrow, complaining about groupmates who don’t pull their weight and professors who look perpetually constipated. Even with the newfound knowledge of his roommate that might worry his parents, Sato doesn’t feel any strain between him and Oikawa. In fact, he’s happy for his friend, and whenever Oikawa is ready to come out to him, Sato will accept him and maybe pretend to be surprised.

And by the time Oikawa and Iwaizumi leave for volleyball, Sato has already put the matter out of his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my first year in university, my dorm had really thin walls. My bed and my neighbor’s bed shared the same wall, and I can feel it vibrate whenever she leaned against the headboard. My friend in another flat also heard his neighbor sing in the bathroom every morning too. So thin walls are an actual problem in some places xd  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	5. In sickness and in health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa is ten times more demanding, clingier and touchier when sick, so Sato decides to let Iwaizumi handle this madness and hopefully he’ll will get better by tonight. 
> 
> Alternatively, the Iwaizumi coddling sick Oikawa headcanon that I had nestling in my mind for some time.

College life has been interesting and fun, especially when rooming with extraordinary people. 

But what is not so fun are exams. 

Last week, ‘twas the end of their term one syllabus, and in T minus five days and a few hours begins their first midterm examination. 

Naturally, with the countdown of their impending doom, every student in their right mind will be glued to their books, Sato included. However, given the university’s penchant for rooming students studying the same degree in the same dormitory (to ‘promote bonding’), the intensity of exam crunch time is magnified. Actually, forget the entire dorm, the aura emanating from his two hardworking-to-a-fault roommates is peer pressure enough for Sato’s start grinding as well.

Not for the first time, Sato questions the supposed perks of living with people who share his exact academic timetable. In fact, when Sato does a name count of their neighbors, he’s pretty sure he shares at least one class with everyone on his floor. While he does make friends more easily (hard not to when you’re always running into each other), the WiFi is always laggy because everyone is using it at the same time, and the communal study room is always never free unless you come early. 

Thus, as a member of the _Homo sapiens_ species, Sato Yuma learns to adapt to his surroundings. He purposely wakes up at Ass O’clock in the morning just so he can secure a good seat in the study room. There’s also the benefit of normalizing his circadian rhythm to fit his exam timetable, so Sato is killing two birds with one stone. 

Sato goes about his morning routine with dreariness normal for a college student. When he peers into the fridge for something that can pass as breakfast, he is devastated to find that there is no food: only canned or bottled drinks and Oikawa’s skincare products. 

Right, none of them have gone grocery shopping in a while. 

Whatever, Sato thinks, pulling out a can of black coffee. He’ll put his things down at the study room then go to the convenience store. He sips on his coffee, idly watching the sun rise through one of the windows. Sato squints his eyes as bright orange light filters in through the blinds, illuminating the room within minutes. 

“Damn, it’s sunrise already?” Sato turns around to see Oikawa stumbling out of his room to the kitchen, shielding his face from the morning sun with his arms. 

“Good morning. You’re up early.” While Oikawa is usually the earliest to rise between the three of them, even he doesn’t wake up this early when there’s no class. 

“Early?” Oikawa repeats, opening his water bottle to scoop in his pre-workout energy powder. “I never slept, so I guess you should say ‘late’?” 

“What.” Sato takes in Oikawa’s haggard appearance. His normally coiffed hair looks like it has been through an electric shock, and his eye bags practically like black eyeshadow gone wrong, visible even with his glasses. “What for?”

“A certain idiot in my group for Legal Research did his part wrongly, and guess who’s stuck cleaning his mess?” Oikawa mutters angrily, and Sato watches in horror as Oikawa rips open two cans of black coffee and dumps them into his pre-workout in place of water. 

“Isn’t that too much energy in one go?” Sato can’t help but worry. “Maybe you should rest, we still have three days until that’s due.” Sato’s still not done with the work himself, but he’s certainly in a better position than Oikawa is, judging from the situation; whichever professor thought that it would be a stellar idea to make a group project due before midterms should be castrated, in Sato’s humble opinion. 

“This?” Oikawa holds up his bottle. “It’s okay, it’s only my third today. You haven’t seen me in my final year of high school.” Somehow, Sato believes him. 

“Well, good luck with studying. Hope we all don’t die.” Oikawa opens the fridge and brings out a meal replacement drink before going back to his room.

“Okay, don’t stress yourself…too much,” Sato says to Oikawa’s retreating back. He throws his coffee can in the trash and prepares to leave.

The early bird really does get the worm; Sato manages to get one of the best seats with a power outlet in the study room. So the next day, once more, Sato gets up very early to repeat his success. 

He watches the sunrise, nursing his black coffee, and again, Oikawa comes out with an empty shake bottle. 

“Did you not sleep again?” Sato asks, incredulous. 

“I took a power nap at…one, I think. I don’t remember, and I...” Oikawa takes out his reading glasses to massage his glabella.

“Do you want Tylenol?” Sato offers empathetically. 

“It’s okay, thanks,” Oikawa says as he makes his health-questionable energy booster drink. He pauses. “Do you think I should buy a caffeine patch?” 

Sato immediately voices his veto before Oikawa can get any ideas. “I think you should take another power nap.” Because Oikawa looks like he really needs it.

“I wish, but I still need to read for contracts, especially the…” Oikawa blinks rapidly, leaning heavily into the counter for support. Sato sees the muscles in his neck strain as he takes a big inhale. 

“Oikawa? Are you…”

Oikawa collapses to the floor. 

Panic rises in him as Sato hurries to check on his roommate. He flips Oikawa supine and taps his shoulders repeatedly to see if he’s passed out. Oikawa doesn’t move, but Sato can see the small rise and fall of his chest, and the tension leaves him in a huge sigh. 

No big deal, Oikawa has just fainted from exhaustion. No heart attacks or seizures here. 

The sun is fully up now, streaks of bright yellow cast onto them like a beam. Under the light, the comedones and lines on Oikawa’s face are further accentuated, along with his eye bags. It seems no amount of skincare can ever replace adequate sleep. 

Sato takes off Oikawa’s glasses for safekeeping, then wonders how he’s supposed to carry Oikawa back into bed when he’s a head shorter than the other man. He tries nonetheless, lifting the other by slinging an arm over his shoulder. The moment his hands touch the skin of Oikawa’s arms, he blanches. 

Oikawa’s burning up. He hasn’t just fainted from exhaustion, he’s sick as well. For good measure, Sato places his hand on the other’s forehead; definitely a fever going on. What a great way to start the day.

Sato decides then that he needs help in carrying this six-foot athlete, and who better else to bother than his other roommate? 

“Kuroo!” Sato raps on the door. “I need your help.” 

Radio silence on the other end. Sato knows that Kuroo sleeps with pillows pressed against his head, so maybe Kuroo didn’t hear him? 

Sato kicks the door just to make himself louder. “Kuroo!” 

“Haaah? Someone better be dying—”

“Oikawa fainted,” Sato says succinctly. 

“What?” There’s rustling, and Kuroo’s door swings open, revealing the other stark naked save for a pair of boxer briefs. His eyes are in slits with dark, droopy bags, and pillow lines streaking across his face. He looks as thought he’s been in a sleep deficit for weeks. “Did you say Oikawa fainted?”

“Yeah, he just collapsed out of nowhere. I can’t carry him by myself.” 

“Do we need to take him to the hospital?” Kuroo asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

Sato hesitates. “I’m not sure. He’s breathing fine, but it seems he has a fever.”

“That idiot…okay, I think we can just let him sleep it off for now. But if his fever gets worse, we should cab him to the university hospital?” 

“Sounds okay.” 

After Kuroo puts on some shorts, they head over to where Oikawa is slumped over, exactly where Sato left him. To Sato’s amazement, Kuroo maneuvers Oikawa into a fireman’s lift, his quads and abdominals rippling with exertion. Oikawa’s legs swing limply at one side as Kuroo shifts for better support his dead weight. 

“You seem like you’ve had experience dealing with passed out people,” Sato says, opening the door to Oikawa’s room for them. 

Kuroo grimaces. “You’d be surprised at how much it hurts to have a volleyball served to your head.” 

They dump Oikawa onto his bed and open the window for better ventilation; how Oikawa manages to study in this sauna, Sato doesn’t know. He gets a pack of baby wipes to wipe the beads of sweat lining along Oikawa’s forehead as Kuroo heads out to get a wet washcloth. He presses his fingers onto Oikawa’s knitted brows, because even in sleep Oikawa still looks stressed.

“What a goddamn idiot, overworking himself to the point of collapse,” Kuroo says, but not unkindly. “I’d beat some sense into him when he wakes up, but Iwaizumi’s already going to do that anyway.” 

Sato could already picture Iwaizumi doing so. “You told him yet?” 

“I left him a text. It’s way too early for him to deal with this.” 

Sato glances over to the wall, where a large picture is tacked amongst many others. Sato doesn’t recognize the two aside from Oikawa and Iwaizumi, but he assumes they’re their high school friends. Oikawa’s draped over Iwaizumi and flashing a ‘peace’ sign to the camera with Iwaizumi looking sideways, as if not ready. As Sato looks over the collage, he sees that Iwaizumi is in every single picture, ranging from toddlers to adults. “Oikawa and Iwaizumi-san knew each other from childhood?” 

“Their moms were college friends and got pregnant at the same time. Cute, right?”

“It’s nice that they’re still good friends even after seeing each other their entire lives. It’s pretty hard to maintain a friendship for that long.” 

“I’m pretty sure Oikawa wouldn’t be able to live without Iwaizumi,” Kuroo says, surprising Sato. “I don’t mean together physically,” he hurries to add, seeing Sato’s face. “I meant if Iwaizumi decided to cut contact with him, I reckon Oikawa would be a downright mess. He relies on Iwaizumi quite a bit.” 

Understatement of the century. Sato’s eyes linger on one particular photo on the bedside table. It’s Oikawa and Iwaizumi in their white-cyan volleyball jerseys—Oikawa the captain and Iwaizumi the ace numbers respectively. Oikawa grins at the camera, smile uninhibited, cheeks rosy, and his arm snug around Iwaizumi’s shoulders despite the sweat clinging to their bodies. Iwaizumi’s arm is behind Oikawa, likely on his back, but he’s not looking at the camera. He’s looking right at Oikawa, looking at him like he’d hung the moon. It’s an expression Sato has never seen Iwaizumi have before. 

Sato doesn’t even need to wonder why this picture is framed, out of all the others. 

Given that Kuroo is acquainted with Iwaizumi through the university’s volleyball team, Sato doesn’t know him as well as Kuroo does. But Sato has eyes, and he’s seen them interact enough to know this: “I don’t think Iwaizumi will ever leave Oikawa either. They care about each other too much. It’ll probably take a restraining order to separate them.”

Kuroo gives Sato and indiscernible look, making the latter feel self-conscious. “Um, did I say something weird?” 

“No, just…what do you think about the two of them? Their relationship?” 

Sato is too surprised by the non sequitur, he’s left gaping at Kuroo. But Kuroo doesn’t take back his question, so Sato assumes he wants an answer. 

“They’re really close? That kind of relationship doesn’t come by often, so I think they’re very lucky to have each other.” That’s his honest opinion from what he gathers from them. No matter whether their feelings for each other are platonic or romantic in nature, it’s obvious that they love and care for each other a lot. 

As if on cue, Oikawa slurs, “Iwa…” 

They stare at Oikawa, but he does not wake. 

Kuroo makes a face that looks like he wants to expand on their discussion, but finally decides not to. “I’m going to the konbini to get a fever pack, and maybe some food, you want anything?” 

Sato thinks back to their dwindling supply of caffeine. “We’re almost out of black coffee. Red Bull too.” 

“Already? But we just bought them a few days ago!” 

“We’ve been drinking so many our blood’s probably dyed brown by now.” Sato sighs. At this point, Oikawa’s caffeine patch is starting to sound like a good idea. “Get some instant porridge too, please. For when Oikawa’s up.” 

When Kuroo leaves, the first thing Sato does is get out his thermometer. He slips it into Oikawa’s mouth and waits for the ‘beep’. 

“39 degrees…yikes.” 

Other than the high fever and the diaphoresis, Oikawa’s condition is stable, so Sato manages to get some studying done before Kuroo comes back with the loot. They put the cooling pack on Oikawa, munch on onigiri for breakfast, and Sato prepares many packets of instant porridge in a large pot, leaving it on the stove with the heat off. 

“It’s been a wild morning, but I’m starting to see two of you, and my head hurts like a hangover,” Kuroo says, squinting at Sato with pursed lips. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled an all nighter.” 

Sato shakes his head amusedly. “Go sleep. I’ll watch Oikawa for now.”

Kuroo’s phone rings, and he answers it. “Hello? Yeah exactly what it said, that idiot overworked himself and is now sick. Come and take care of him, will you? Yeah, no worries…I’m fine, just sleep deprived, been up for 30 hours…” 

“Iwaizumi-san?” Sato mouths. 

Kuroo nods at him as he continues talking to Iwaizumi. “No, it’s okay…yeah, take your time. Okay, bye.” He cuts the call. “So Iwaizumi’s coming over asap, and I’m going to go sleep until tomorrow. Hopefully you don’t get sick as well, please.” 

Sato cracks a smile, waving Kuroo back to his room. The man looks no different than a zombie right now, dragging his feet and walking with a slouch. If Kuroo has to be up any longer, Sato has a feeling he might end up like Oikawa.

Luckily for Sato, Iwaizumi is true to his word. There’s a knock less than half an hour later, and Sato quickly gathers his bag and goes to answer to door. 

“Yo. Sorry for the inconvenience,” Iwaizumi says, and he really does look like he rushed here the moment he woke up. His hair is tussled, he hasn’t shaved, and his shirt, which Sato reckons is his pajamas, looks like it belongs in the textiles bin. One look at his face tells Sato that exam season hasn’t been kind to him either. 

“It’s alright,” Sato says, stepping aside to let Iwaizumi in. “Just glad it’s just a fever and not a heart attack from all the coffee we’ve been drinking.”

“Idiotkawa’s probably already desensitized to caffeine. Has he ever told you about that one time he drank two Monster drinks in a row?”

“How is he still alive.” 

Iwaizumi laughs. “Exactly. How are you though, doing okay?”

“It’s so bad that my eye bags are starting to have their own eye bags,” Sato tells him honestly, and Iwaizumi snorts. He toes on his shoes. “I’ll be downstairs in the study room. Kuroo’s probably dead to the world so if anything happens you can call me…we should exchange LINE…” Sato makes to open his bag to take out his phone.

“I’ll add you from Oikawa. I forgot my LINE ID.” Of course Iwaizumi would have access to Oikawa’s phone. Sato gives him a parting nod, and Iwaizumi shuts the door to their room.

*

Sato receives his first message from Iwaizumi a few hours later.

 **Iwaizumi H**.   
_Should I be worried that all that’s in your fridge are coffee, energy drinks, and sparkling water?_

Sato laughs, because that would have been his past-self’s reaction to the barren state of their fridge. But in these dire times, caffeine and instant meals triumph over proper sources of nutrition. 

He texts Iwaizumi a quick ‘ _there’s porridge on the stove if you want_ ’, and gets an instant reply back.

_Thanks. To be honest you’re probably the only reason Oikawa hasn’t had food poisoning yet. And Kuroo._

Really, Sato is flattered, but Iwaizumi is giving him too much credit here. The man is literally responsible for 95% of room 313’s fruit intake, and Sato thinks the three of them might have keeled over from scurvy or beri-beri without him. 

When afternoon rolls around, and Sato feels his eyes about to explode from reading all the small fine print, he takes a short trip to the convenience store for some food. He is in the middle of choosing between a beef bowl and a curry bowl when Iwaizumi calls him. 

“Do you happen to have any fever-reducing meds? He’s awake now, but he still feels warm.”

The curry bowl in hand, Sato answers him as he picks up a packet of chips on the way to the checkout. “That’s good. There’s Tylenol in the bottom drawer of my desk, in the plastic box.” 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi says, and Sato hears muffled talking in the background. 

“I’m at the konbini right now, is there anything you’d like?” Sato asks. 

“Oh, nothing, thank—” Iwaizumi is cut off with a grunt. “Oi! Don’t sit up…fine, I’ll tell him, now go back to sleep…” Sato, already used to their banter, patiently waits for Iwaizumi to come back on the line. “Hello? Uh, Oikawa wants milk bread.” 

Sato isn’t even surprised. “The big one or the small one?” 

“Just get five big ones, because if experience serves, he’ll be wanting another one in a few hours…don’t deny it! The last time you got sick I—what? I swear to God... Sato, this trash can over here wants vanilla ice cream too.” Sato could feel Iwaizumi’s exhaustion through the phone. 

“Okay…anything else?” 

“No more, but make sure it’s Haägen Dazs vanilla ice cream too. I’m so sorry.” 

Sato honestly doesn’t mind, and hearing Iwaizumi stress out whilst babysitting a sick Oikawa is mildly entertaining as well. “I’m happy to help. Do you want anything as well?” 

“I’m good, thank you.” 

When Sato returns to the apartment with the groceries, Iwaizumi comes out of Oikawa’s room to help him, and he looks like he’s aged five years since the last time Sato saw him. He’s also changed out of his washed-out tee into one of Oikawa’s, which hugs at his broad shoulders a little too tightly. 

“Did you manage to find the Tylenol?” Sato asks.

“Yeah, thanks. The porridge was also really good, Oikawa ate a lot. God knows how long he went without eating properly…”

Sato hands Iwaizumi the snacks Oikawa requested for before unpacking his own lunch, salivating at the spicy aroma of the microwaved curry bowl. 

“However much these are, I’ll transfer you later. Seriously, Haägen Dazs is so overpriced…” 

“Normally, sick people don’t have much of an appetite. It’s nice that Oikawa is eating well.” 

Iwaizumi sighs, barely able to keep his frustration at bay. “Well, good for him. But not if you’re taking care of him and he’s demanding you run to the konbini to every five minutes. That, or he’ll whine about being bored and stuck in bed when he could be digging himself into a deeper grave.” 

“He’s like a toddler when he’s sick.” Oikawa doesn’t seem like the type of person to crave milk bread and ice cream when he’s sick, but the more you know. 

“Maybe I’ve been spoiling him too much.” Iwaizumi says, even though the both of them know he won’t stop, no matter how bratty Oikawa becomes. 

“Iwa-chan,” speak of the devil. “Milk bread!” 

“Jesus, can’t you wait!” Iwaizumi yells back. “Do you want your overrated ice cream too?”

“Milk bread first, and more water!”

If Oikawa can be up and demanding for sweets, then Sato surmises that they wouldn’t be needing a trip to the hospital anytime soon. Privately, he thinks that Oikawa’s condition is stable enough that he shouldn’t need to be babysat anymore, but Iwaizumi seems happy to take on that role, so who is Sato to stop him? 

Sato wolfs down the curry rice, feeling himself ascending to heaven at how delicious it is. But then again, everything tastes good if you’re hungry. 

“Iwa-chan, I’m cold,” comes Oikawa’s stuffy voice. Iwaizumi accidentally left Oikawa’s door ajar, and their bickering is practically a stand-up comedy that Sato doesn’t need to entertain himself.

“You have a perfectly functioning duvet.” 

“But it’ll be too hot underneath, and without it I’m cold!” 

“So wear a jacket. Stop disturbing me.”

“Fine. Fine! I’ll wear a jacket then!” Oikawa says, and Sato can imagine him pouting and folding his arms, like he does when Kuroo insults him. 

Sato thoughtfully chews on a piece of carrot. In any other context, this would be a very, very weird conversation to have between two friends. But as Sato learned a while ago, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are hardly considered your average pair of friends. 

“…Come on, Oikawa, we’re too old for sick cuddles.”

“Not like anyone’s going to see. But if Iwa-chan is too mature for sick cuddles then sure, whatever!” 

‘Sick cuddles’, they called it. Sato muffles his face with his hands as he laughs as softly as he can. Clearly, Iwaizumi is a veteran at caring for sick Oikawa if ‘sick cuddles’ is a buzzword between them. Sato doesn’t know whether to smile at their cuteness or thump his head on the table because damn, they’re giving him and his girlfriend a run for their money. And they’re not even a couple yet.

“Don’t be like that. I also haven’t studied at all today, so just, I don’t know, watch a movie or something.” 

“So study! No one’s stopping you.” 

There is a beat of silence. Then, not surprisingly, Iwaizumi caves in.“Fine, but we’re doing it sitting up.”

“Iwa-chan’s the best,” Oikawa croons, mood brightening in a heartbeat. Sato’s imagines his pupils morphing into the shape of hearts, were it humanly possible. “Hey, you’ve gotten even bigger since high school! Are you on anabolic steroids? Ooh, your deltoids are so thick and—”

“Shut the fuck up and cuddle.”

How Oikawa thinks Iwaizumi doesn’t like him back, Sato has to wonder, because what kind of friend gives cuddles? Never mind being sick, or lying down, or sitting up, Sato sure as hell isn’t giving his friends cuddles. A hug, sure, but not cuddles.

“Iwa-chan didn’t even shave today! What a caveman.”

“Whose fucking fault do you think it is!” 

“Ah, S-stop! Iwa— Not there!” Oikawa’s hysteria mingles with Iwaizumi’s grunts, followed by sounds of scuffling, as Iwaizumi proceeds to tickle Oikawa, or that’s what it sounds like to Sato, and honestly he doesn’t really want to know.

It’s like those two conveniently forgot that there are, in fact, two other humans living in this flat too. Sato slips into his shoes and ties his laces with lightning speed, practically diving out the door. 

Downstairs, Sato makes the decision to camp out in the study room until it closes. Even with the knowledge of Oikawa’s ‘one-sided’ crush on Iwaizumi, Sato still felt uncomfortable, like he was intruding into something despite have every right to be there. If only Iwaizumi shut the door properly just now. 

Besides, Oikawa is ten times more demanding, clingier and touchier when sick, so Sato decides to let Iwaizumi handle this madness and hopefully he’ll will get better by tonight. 

However, since Sato has gotten up ridiculously early, and has been studying more this past week than the entirety of last month, his concentration wanes. Despite having another weeks’ worth of content to cram into his hippocampus, Sato throws in the towel when his head lolls forward one too many times. 

When he returns to the flat, he sees Oikawa and Iwaizumi sprawled on the sofa. Oikawa’s head is on Iwaizumi’s lap with his feet dangling off the other side, and he’s wrapped up cozily in a blanket, asleep. No wonder the flat seems quieter than usual. 

“How was studying?” Iwaizumi asks him, looking up from his notes. His laptop is propped up on the armrest, and in one hand he’s holding up a sheaf of papers at face level, the other petting Oikawa’s fluffy hair. Again, disgustingly sweet even though they’re not a couple. Sato feels his blood glucose levels rise just by looking at them.

“Not an ‘A’ anytime soon. This is my second time going through the material and I still can’t remember it.” 

Iwaizumi snorts. “Why am I not surprised that you’re an overachiever too. You all should learn to chill out a little.” He glances at Oikawa as he says this, a soft smile playing at his lips. 

“What about you? Get any studying done today?” Sato asks. He spots the pot of porridge on the counter. He opens it to find it wiped clean, despite there being enough to feed a whole family for a day. 

“Not the most productive day. Oh, you can just leave it like that, I’ll make Oikawa wash it when he wakes up. His fever is down and his voice’s back to normal, so I think he’s well now.”

Sato smiles gratefully. Even if Iwaizumi didn’t offer, Sato doesn’t think he has enough energy left for chores. “Alright. Good luck with revision, I’m going to—”

His phone vibrates continually in his pocket. Someone is calling him. 

Annoyed and exhausted, Sato brusquely answers the call. “Hello?” 

“Sato-san, have you seen Kuro?” Sato checks the caller ID. Kozume Kenma. 

“Kuroo? Is there something wrong?”

“No one has heard from him since yesterday morning, and we’re getting worried,” Kozume’s words are garbled, a stark contrast to his usual slow and weighted manner of speech. 

“Oh, don’t worry. Kuroo’s fine, just asleep,” Sato says, going over to Kuroo’s room. He peeks inside, and sure enough, he spots a huge blanketed lump and two pillows. Kuroo really wasn’t kidding when he said he would sleep the whole day. Rest In Peace, Kuroo’s circadian rhythm. 

“..At 7pm? Is he okay?” 

Sato snaps a picture and sends it to Kozume for reassurance. “Just the exam season. Oikawa also literally fainted from exhaustion this morning, so really, I’m the minority here.” 

Kozume chuckles. “All right. I have to call his dad to tell him Kuro’s alive, so…” 

“You should do that. His dad must have been worried.”

“Thank you, Sato-san.” He cuts the call. 

Now Sato can finally shower and go to bed. At this point, he’s running on borrowed energy. 

But then, a phone vibrates again, and Sato is almost ready to turn off his phone, or maybe throw it across the room in frustration. But he doesn’t, because it’s not his phone that’s going off, but Kuroo’s—from the floor.

“That’s why you don’t put your phone on your bed…” Sato mutters. He does Kuroo a favour and picks it up, and lucky for him, the screen isn’t cracked. The call cuts off and flashes to the lock screen, displaying a whole day’s worth of notifications.

Sato’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. 

15 missed calls from ‘ _Tsukki_ ’

10 missed calls from ‘ _Yakkun_ ’

21 missed calls from ‘ _Dad_ ’ 

12 missed calls from ‘ _Annoying Ow_ l’

8 missed calls from ‘ _Bald Jesus’_

16 missed calls from ‘ _Pudding_ ’

1 missed call from ‘ _Snake bastard_ ’ 

1 missed call from ‘ _Broccoli_ ’

LINE: 3898 new messages 

Instagram: 11 new notifications

+123 more new notifications.

…

Horrendous contact names aside, Sato is floored by the amount of notifications in just a single day. Kuroo’s phone feels warm in his palm despite not being in use the whole day, and the battery is in the red. 

Kuroo sure is loved, Sato thinks, plugging the phone into the charger on Kuroo’s desk. 

Sato leaves Kuroo’s room and suddenly feels the exhaustion hit all at once. “Iwaizumi-san, if you’re still here when Kuroo wakes up, please tell him to call Kozume-san. I’m going to bed now.”

Iwaizumi nods confusedly, and that’s all the answer Sato needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :) 
> 
> Also shoutout to my hypeman @Carrochan your comments are funny xd
> 
> *MANGA SPOILER*  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> IWA CHAN IS BACKKKKK HOLY CRAP now we just need Kuroo + and IwaOi reunion


	6. “Stardom isn’t a profession; it’s an accident”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sato’s eyes widen with every passing second. He would be the first to acknowledge Oikawa’s pretty-boy features and Kuroo’s bad-boy vibes, but never did he think there would be this many girls thirsting after them.
> 
> Alternatively: if you’re good-looking enough, you can become famous.

Sato wakes up one weekend to the incessant buzzing of his phone. He gropes around for it and blearily tries to snooze his alarm. It doesn’t work, because it’s not his alarm that’s causing the buzzing, but rather his notifications. 

LINE: _502 new messages_

Holy shit. Sato unlocks his phone to see what the fuss is about. Hopefully no one has died. 

Most of the messages are coming from a group chat with his ex volleyball teammates, so that’s the first chat he clicks on:

_Holy shit he famous!_

_Don’t be an idiot it’s just ig not national television_

_Yeah but this acc has 400k followers_

_That counts for smth_

_Now that I think abt it Sato’s kinda good looking? No homo tho_

_He’s a good friend and all, but he’s not hot_

_Sorry bruh no offense_

_Yeah but he’s not good looking enough to be featured on that page_

_F_

_Wait is that other guy from Fukurodani?_

_Oh yeahh_

_Fukurodani who?_

_The top 5 ace school_

_Went to nationals representing Tokyo_

_Wtf no way isn’t that guy still in high school_

_Their girl managers are hottt_

…

Sato’s head is spinning with the onslaught of messages. The chat is moving so fast that he could barely read them before they disappear, replaced by the ones incoming. This group hasn’t been this active since their last high school match. 

Since he can’t be bothered to read the past hundreds of messages, he announces his presence in the chat room:

_What’s going on? I see y’all @-ing me_

The chat explodes. Sato’s not-brand-new phone lags with all the messages coming in at once. 

The words of his ex teammates fly by like the wind, but what catches his attention is the photo his ex captain sends. He quickly clicks onto it before it disappears. 

A familiar photo loads onto his screen. Recognition flashes through him as he stares at the photo of himself, Oikawa, Kuroo and Kuroo’s friend, taken only a few days ago:

*

When Kuroo says he’ll be out with his high school friend, Sato does not think too much of it, goes about his day as normal. He holes himself up in the library furiously working on the law review that’s due at exactly 11:59 tonight, internally vowing next time to start early for sure. 

Just as he’s tidying up his citations, he gets a message from a group chat with himself, Oikawa and Kuroo.

**We’re out of toilet paper again (3)**

_**Kuroo T.** _  
_Me and my friend are at the campus McDonalds._  
_You guys want anything?_  
_Or join us if you want._

_**Oikawa T.** _  
_What I want is to maim Nakamura with a machete_

_**Kuroo T.** _  
_Oddly specific_  
_But as much as we want to_  
_I want to graduate_  
_So don’t do it_

**_Oikawa T._ **  
_No promises._  
_I’m so stressed_  
_There’s only 1h 47m left omg_

**_Kuroo T._**  
_Damn you good?_  
_That means you can’t meet my friend the_ n

**_Oikawa T._ **  
_At this point I don’t care even if your friend is on Japan’s National team_  
_I need to finish this stupid review_  
_Still haven’t even done citations_

**_Kuroo T._ **  
_Shit man that’s cutting it close_  
_And screw the blue book it’s not worth it_

**_Sato Y._**  
_I think you’ll make it_  
_Just throw it into a citation generator and hope the prof doesn’t notice_

**Oikawa T.**  
_Bless whoever created that program honestly._  
_You done?_

**_Sato Y._ **  
_Pretty much._  
_I’ll drop by for food_

The campus McDonalds is on the way back to the dormitory. Sato is pretty hungry too, having skipped dinner to work. The thought of those delicious, juicy chicken nuggets overweighs any potential social awkwardness he might face. So he packs his things, bundles himself up, and heads out.

It doesn’t take long for Sato to arrive at McDonalds, and he spots Kuroo’s bed hair even from the outside. 

“‘sup, you’re finally done?” Kuroo says, pulling out the chair beside him. “This is my friend Akaashi, and this is Sato, one of my roommates.”

Akaashi stands up to greet him. “Good evening. My name is Akaashi Keiji from Fukurodani Academy…” 

The tail end of Akaashi’s introduction is lost to him, because Sato’s brain function has temporarily ceased. From the soft waves of black hair, unruly but framing his face well, to the shine of his pink, plush lips—no doubt the work of lip balm, his thin, straight-edge nose and—Sato’s heart stutters when his gaze meets the other’s—those stunning forrest-green eyes, bright even under the dim restaurant lighting. 

What magnificence. This is the most beautiful man Sato is ever met. 

“Um…are you okay?” Akaashi’s smooth tenor brings Sato back to reality. 

“Ah, uh, yes, I’m sorry. Akaashi-san, right? Sorry, I was just really hungry,” Sato adds lamely in an attempt to save face. He sends a mental apology to his girlfriend. 

_Get a grip,_ Sato tells himself as he goes up to the counter to order. 

Fortunately, Sato manages not to make a fool of himself again. Akaashi is a pretty man, but being roommates to Oikawa and Kuroo, he’s had a solid two months to desensitize himself to Ikemens. No big deal. 

Stunning good looks aside, Sato would have to say that Akaashi is a peculiar person, not in a bad way.

Sato’s first impression of Akaashi is that the boy is very polite, using formal language to address him that’s normally used for a superior at work rather than a friend’s friend. He’s less formal to Kuroo, but he doesn’t use casual Japanese with Kuroo either. 

Another aspect that stands out about Akaashi is his way he eats—specifically the burger. His burger is cut cleanly into quarters, and Akaashi’s using a fork and knife to eat each quadrant as it it’s a fancy steak rather than a greasy 300¥ cheeseburger. Sato wonders if Akaashi is secretly part of the royal family. 

The two of them make an effort to include Sato in their conversation, about American politics of all things. He appreciates this, but he’s too busy wolfing down his McNuggets to contribute anything other than his distaste for the human tangerine. 

One would expect Kuroo to hold a one-man talk show, with how reserved Akaashi is, but it seems that Akaashi’s comfortable enough with Kuroo to be more vocal, making the conversation surprisingly balanced. 

On another note, Kuroo himself isn’t as much of a talker as he initially seems. He’s a social chameleon, Sato notices: when he’s with Kozume or Akaashi, he becomes more easygoing, but chatty when needed, not letting any dead air seep between them. But when he’s with Oikawa, he’s wild and excitable, even able to match Oikawa’s constant stream of chatter and creating a double headache for Sato sometimes.

While Sato isn’t sure what his and Kuroo’s dynamic is like, he has never felt uncomfortable around Kuroo. A feat, really, for someone as socially inept as himself. 

When the topic shifts towards Youtubers, Sato is delighted to discover that he and Akaashi share the same favorite Youtubers. He finds himself relaxing around Akaashi as he listens to the other discuss—in a rather deadpan tone like how a reporter might announce today’s weather— about the latest trends: about which someone who recently adopted a dog or cat, more Jake and Logan Paul controversies, and tea from some YouTube drama. Akaashi should really become a journalist. 

Then Kuroo brings up this Youtuber who used to play volleyball in his prime, and Akaashi’s hype levels skyrocket, fingers tapping excitedly as he speaks, tone lilted. Sato really shouldn’t be surprised that Kuroo’s friend is also a volleyball junkie. 

“Akaashi-san, you play for Fukurodani Academy…did you also compete in the spring nationals?” Sato didn’t manage to watch any Fukurodani games, but the school is famous across the country for being a sports powerhouse. 

Akaashi nods, looking a little surprised. “Yes, I did. Did you happen to play volleyball too, when you were in high school?” 

Pretty face, well-mannered, National sports player. Can this man get any more perfect? He’s spoiling the bachelor market for all the average joes out there. 

“Ah…yes, but I wasn’t good or anything. Haha.” 

“And I keep telling you it doesn’t matter! Just liking volleyball is enough,” Kuroo says, and Akaashi nods, steepling his fingers. 

Sato’s thankfully saved from further response when one of the employees comes up to their table.

“Hello! We’re sorry, but we’re closing in fifteen minutes! Thank you for your patronage and please come again.” 

A quick glance around the restaurant tells Sato that they’re the only ones in here. He hasn’t even noticed when that had happened. 

“Shit, it’s so late. Akaashi, you want to stay over?” Kuroo asks as he stacks their trays and hands in to the employee. 

“No, thank you. I can go over to Bokuto-san’s...stop it, it’s nearer to school than here,” Akaashi says as Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. “Stop it.” 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you planned this,” Kuroo says with his shit-eating grin. He opens the door, and immediately, ice-cold wind rushes in. Sato zips up his windbreaker and pulls his hood up.

“It’s actually a tough choice. But between squeezing into a single bed with you or Bokuto-san, I choose the latter.” 

“I’m hurt. Way to break a bro’s heart,” Kuroo grasped at his chest dramatically. For a split second Sato is reminded of Oikawa. “I bet you’d like those big, beefy arms around you all night, eh?”

Sato is lost, but it’s probably some inside joke that wouldn’t be funny even if they did explain, so he just trails after them out the restaurant. Akaashi looks three seconds away from combusting from either anger or embarrassment, or maybe it’s the night cold that’s freezing them to the inside out right now. What happened to the comfortably cool weather from a few hours ago?

In a gesture that’s as manly as a protagonist in a K-drama, Kuroo shrugs off his black fur-lined parka and places it around the Akaashi’s shoulders. His lips are curled into a smirk, but it’s not condescending. “You look like your balls are about to fall off from the cold.” 

“I’m fine, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says as he tries to give Kuroo back the parka, but Kuroo isn’t having it.

“Just take it. It’s a long walk to Bokuto’s new place. You know how to get there?”

Akaashi looks like he’s about to protest, but Kuroo is more stubborn. To his credit, Kuroo doesn’t even look bothered by the weather despite only now wearing a pull-over. 

“…Yes, he brought me there once. Thank you.”

Akaashi properly wears the oversized parka, the garment practically drowning him. His hands don’t make it past the sleeves, and the hem rests just over his thighs. When he zips up, it goes right past his chin, almost up to his nose. Sato daresay he looks adorable. 

“Cool. We’ll walk you to the metro then.” 

“Thank you.” 

The streets look even more deserted than before. The street lamps are still on, and some of the buildings, thankfully, so it doesn’t feel like they’re going to be mugged and stabbed to death, even if it is eerily quiet. Still, Sato understands why Kuroo would be worried about letting Akaashi walk to the metro by himself, even if it’s only ten minutes away. 

And because the streets are so empty, any other person that’s also out and about immediately catches their attention. 

“Hey, isn’t that Oikawa?” 

It is. Even with his face obscured by a thick woolen scarf and his navy blue trench coat practically camouflaging him with the night sky, that hair is unmistakably Oikawa’s.

Oikawa turns at the sound of Kuroo’s voice, his face morphing into surprise as he waves at them. “You guys were camping at McDonalds for two hours?” 

“Yeah, somehow,” Sato says. He initially planned on just grabbing a bite and leaving, but life throws him pleasant surprises sometimes. “Congrats on finishing in time.” 

“Just barely with ten minutes to spare. Then Iwa-chan kicked me out because I was too noisy and he needed to sleep,” Oikawa says unprompted, clueing Sato in how genuinely upset he is. 

“Wise choice—” “‘Kuroo!” “Anyway, this is Akaashi. Akaashi, Oikawa. He’s our team’s setter.” Their introduction is short, but Sato figures Kuroo already briefly told them about each other before this.

Akaashi and Oikawa examine each other curiously. 

Oikawa breaks the ice. “So what’s it like setting to a top five spiker of high school volleyball?” 

“Chaotic, but very fun,” Akaashi says with small smile, and Sato thinks he might see baby angels flying around in circles. 

Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “Fun? Sometimes I imagine setting to Ushiwaka and literally I feel goosebumps crawling all over my skin. Not in a good way.”

“U- _Ushiwaka_? You mean…Ushijima Wakatoshi from Shiratorizawa?” 

“The one and only. Just thinking about him makes me irritated…”

“The hell?” Kuroo chimes in. “You never told me you personally knew Ushijima . Even when Bokuto met him at youth camp they didn’t talk much…”

Oikawa folds his arms, making a distasteful face that looks as if he’s constipated. Kuroo gives him an exasperated look, while Akaashi just looks nonplussed. “He compared my high school’s volleyball team to barren land.” 

“What the— why? That’s so random!” Kuroo says, bursting into laughter, interspersed with snorts. Oikawa and Sato dubs this Kuroo’s ugly laugh. “Is his family in the agriculture sector?” 

“Barren…land…” Akaashi repeats. “What’s the fruit represent?” 

Kuroo’s still laughing like this is the funniest thing he heard. “Akaashi you’re reading too much into this! My God, I gotta tell Bokuto—”

“Anyway! Long story for another time. Let’s go back, I’m freezing out here.” 

“Nah, we’re sending Akaashi to the metro first.” 

Akaashi gives them a bow. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t be, it’s only a few minutes away. But let’s get there quickly because it’s like a tundra out here,” Kuroo says with a shiver, guiding Akaashi by the shoulders. The resume their brisk walk, Akaashi once again trying to give Kuroo back his parka only to be shut down. 

Sato listens with half an ear as Oikawa tells him about the ‘shitty WiFi that almost made him miss the submission deadline’, more interested in observing the two in front of him. Kuroo’s showing something on his phone to Akaashi, who laughs and comments something snarky back. 

This is a rare, calmer side to Kuroo that Sato rarely sees. Kuroo is normally either batshit crazy or just a giant pain in the ass when he’s with Oikawa or any of their college friends. But Kuroo sacrificing his parka to Akaashi despite being cold himself, offering to walk him to the metro, and his more gentle mannerisms is almost like a different person. He could almost say that Kuroo has a soft spot for Akaashi. 

The only other person he’s like this with is Kozume Kenma, who mirrors Akaashi in his reserved manner and blunt way of speaking. 

They turn a left, and, finally, right up ahead is the metro station. 

Kuroo suddenly stops, causing Oikawa to bump into him. 

Ignoring Oikawa’s squawk, he turns to Akaashi and say, out of the blue, “before you go, let’s take a selfie real quick.” 

“Okay…but why?” 

“Tsukki’s been wondering why I haven’t replied him all day, bet he’d be so jealous if I knew who I was hanging out with,” Kuroo sing songs, pulling Akaashi close to snap a quick picture, probably to send to ‘Tsukki’. 

“You guys are taking a selfie without me?” Oikawa says with indignation. 

“Okay, okay, come in. Sato too, let’s have a group picture!” 

“No wait, it’s too dark here! Let’s go under the lamp,” Oikawa says, dragging Kuroo by the arm with Sato and Akaashi trailing behind. 

Kuroo struggles with the angle a little to try and fit all of them, until Oikawa sighs and takes the phone from him. “For someone with long limbs, you suck at selfies.” 

“Well sorry I’m not a narcissistic ass like you,” Kuroo grumbles, taking his place at Akaashi’s other side, leaving Sato in between Oikawa and Akaashi.

“Selfie-taking is an art,” Oikawa insists, holding the phone up with practiced ease. Everyone’s faces now fit comfortably, and Oikawa’s face isn’t blown up disproportionately like Kuroo’s was when he was holding the phone. Sato smooths his hair, trying to not look like a potato as much as possible, especially since he’s in between two very pretty men. 

“3, 2, 1!” Oikawa spams the shutter, somehow managing a different smile with each picture. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Kuroo says, taking his arm off of Akaashi’s shoulder. “You be safe, text me when you’re at Bokuto’s.”

Akaashi nods, putting his hands into the pockets of Kuroo’s parka. “I’ll see you soon, and it’s nice meeting you, Oikawa-san and Sato-san.”

“Pleasure is mine. Let’s talk more next time,” Oikawa says pleasantly, clapping Akaashi on the shoulder. Akaashi gives them one last bow before heading off. 

Because they sent Akaashi off at the metro, the walk back to their flat now takes longer. Sato wouldn’t normally be bothered by this, but the wind is starting to pick up, and the temperature somehow even colder. Sato tries to bury himself in his jacket as if that would shield himself. 

“Hey wind! Stop slapping my face for five goddamn minutes! Read the atmosphere will you!” Oikawa, in a fit of insanity, actually screams at the sky. 

“Are you that sleep-deprived that you’re talking to wind?” Kuroo asks incredulously. “Oh wait, was that a pun?” 

“Pun intended. But seriously, this is only autumn, the wind shouldn’t be this strong. My face is going to be so dry!” 

“No one cares about your face. I’m becoming a human icicle over here!” 

“Well it was your choice to give your jacket to Akaashi-kun, you masochist. As much I’d like to help, I only have two layers on.”

“Hey, let me borrow your pockets. I can’t feel my fingers.” Before Oikawa can reply, Kuroo maneuvers himself behind Oikawa and sticks his both his hands into Oikawa’s coat pocket. 

And then Sato is treated to the sight of two grown men in a back hug. 

“Your hands are cold, and you’re tickling me!” Oikawa whines, trying to struggle, but he’s trapped in between Kuroo’s clamp-like arms. Without any context, Sato would think they’re a couple showing some pda, and it would be really cute if they aren’t trying to crab-walk in that position. 

“Sorry, but this just saved me from frostbite. Stay like this for a while.” 

“And how are we supposed to walk?” 

“I don’t know, figure something out.”

“How?”

Even though Kuroo’s hands might be warm now, the rest of his body sure isn’t, if the strong vibrations along his back is anything to go by. Another strong gust of cold air rushes by them, and Kuroo huddles even more closely to Oikawa. 

“Okay I know you love me, but this isn’t working out,” Oikawa says as he tries to bat Kuroo off. In response, Kuroo just clings onto him tighter, wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s midriff. 

Sato may or may not have secretly snapped a photo of them because this is too cute to pass up, and maybe sends it to his girlfriend as a joke with the caption ‘ _Who needs a coat when you have a human furnace._ ’

But as funny as this is to watch, Sato really wants to get back to the warmth of his room. “Oikawa, maybe you can wrap your coat around the both of you? It looks big enough.”

Oikawa and Kuroo look at each other, contemplating the idea. They come to a silent agreement, Kuroo releasing Oikawa and Oikawa unbuttoning his trench coat, slipping his right sleeve out and giving it to Kuroo. 

“This is the gayest thing I’ve ever done,” Oikawa says as Kuroo puts his right arm through the sleeve. 

“Pretty sure you’ve done gayer stuff, but okay, I’ll pretend I believe you.” 

“You’re too big! We can’t button it up now.”

“No, we can. We just need to huddle together more…” The fact that Kuroo missed the prime opportunity to get in a ‘that’s what she said’ joke is slightly worrying. “Put your arm around me, and I’ll—yeah, like that. Now we can button up.” 

“This is so weird. It’s like a three-legged race, but the whole body.” With Oikawa’s left hand and Kuroo’s right, they successfully button the trench coat and tie the waistband.

The once stylish trench coat now looks like a huge get-along sweater housing two irritable children. It’s so funny Sato couldn’t resist snapping another photo, sending it to his girlfriend again. 

‘# _couplegoals. Maybe we should try sharing a coat_?’

“Yes, Sato I’m glad you’re enjoying the view,” Oikawa sniffs. He gives Kuroo a nudge under the coat. 

“At least Kuroo’s warm now?” Sato says in between sniggers. Although their mobility is still rather limited, it’s way faster than the crab-walk they were doing just now, and they finally reach their dormitory without anyone dying of hypothermia. 

*

Back to the present, Sato stares at the photo of himself, Oikawa, Kuroo and Akaashi in front of the metro station as he slowly blinks sleep out of his eyes. 

It’s a very good photo of Oikawa and Akaashi, who are both photogenic in their own right. The street lights only serve to accentuate Oikawa’s high cheekbones whilst casting a shadow along his jaw, defining it even more. And Akaashi; Sato doesn’t know if it’s luck or if he’s just that photogenic, but his entire face is glowing, he’s ethereal. Off to the side is Kuroo. It’s not his best angle by any means, but he’s radiating big dick energy with his trademark smirk and hair. He definitely looks better than Sato himself, squished in between Oikawa and Akaashi and practically nonexistent; it’s obvious that he’s only featured here by proxy.

The picture was originally uploaded on Oikawa’s Instagram, but only just a day after, it was reposted on _@tokyosexyboys_official._ It’s one of those accounts with a sizable follower count (405k to be exact) where the public can submit good-looking boys to be featured on that page for viewing pleasure, but whether or not they make it is up to the discretion of the elusive panel of admins. 

However, according to the grapevine, the factor that sets this account apart from all others, apart from the huge following, is that some of the admins are scouts for modeling agencies, and that whoever gets featured on this account is basically hotTM and a shoo-in for Instagram stardom and maybe a modeling gig. 

Sato dazedly heads over to Instagram, where he’s greeted with 64 follow requests. He ignores them and goes for the _@tokyosexyboys_official_ account. Sure enough, the picture is there with over 10k likes and 3k comments…in under a day. 

‘ _It might be cold outside, but seeing you warms my heart.’_ @oikawaaa.t

The admins even quoted Oikawa’s original caption.   
  
Intrigued, he scrolls through the comments to see what exactly the hype is about. Sure, they are really good-looking, but it isn’t that big a deal...right? 

Wrong. 

Sato’s eyes widen with every passing second. He would be the first to acknowledge Oikawa’s pretty-boy features, Kuroo’s bad-boy vibes, and Akaashi’s elegance, but never did he think there would be this many girls thirsting after them:

Half of the comments he sees are people demanding for Kuroo’s (the tall one) and Akaashi’s (the black parka guy) social media handles. 

Another good chunk are different variations of ‘choke/spank me daddy’—most referring to Kuroo.

There’s a small group squealing about Oikawa’s ‘perfect’ face and smile.

Last, and also the most horrifying, some depraved people openly talking about…things they want to do to Akaashi. Thankfully, that part of the Internet is only a small subsection, so Sato’s faith in humanity isn’t all lost yet. 

There’s also some people commenting # _oikuro_ , but as far as he’s concerned, some people are willing ship anything with a pulse and two legs, sometimes even more. 

Someone also managed to dig around for their accounts, and that comment has garnered a thousand likes in a span of an hour. That would explain the number of friend requests he got. If it’s this bad for him, he can’t imagine how the other three are faring. 

**@unhappyexpert:**

Here. I found them.

@kurotetsu

@k.kaashi

@yumayonaise

Your welcome. 

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**@that_random_gurl** :

Omg who’s that other guy, sticks out like a sore thumb among the three hotties—

  
That’s enough social media for Sato for today. 

He tosses his phone aside and rolls out of bed. First, he should take a shower, eat lunch, and maybe study for that test next Thursday. 

“—it’s a misunderstanding!”

Sato sees Kuroo talking on the phone in his sleepwear. He looks a combination of angry and frustrated, his hair up in all directions and the glint in his eyes murderous. 

“No, Bokuto! Fucking listen!” Kuroo shouts. Sato has never heard Kuroo raise his voice before. “I know it looks bad, but I swear there’s nothing between me and Oikawa, I’m not cheating on him, okay? We clear? So don’t come over to punch me for his sake or something stupid like that, okay?” 

Sato freezes like a deer in headlights. Something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what. 

“—call you back. God dammit!” In a burst of anger, Kuroo throws his phone onto the sofa, his breathing ragged and his shoulders tense. 

“Hey.” Sato turns to where Oikawa stands previously unnoticed. He looks uncharacteristically somber, lips pursed and eyes turned down. “Everything okay?” 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Kuroo bites out. “The worst part is I can’t even blame them. Because even to me, the picture looks so wrong. Of course he’d—they’d assume…” Kuroo sighs, running his hands roughly through his hair. 

“It really is damning,” Oikawa says softly as he looks at his phone. “I wonder—”

“Guys,” Sato stutters, almost flinching at the way their heads snap toward him. “What happened? I saw the group selfie—”

“Not that. This is even worse. Oikawa show him,” Kuroo says, slumping heavily onto the sofa, looking like all the energy has been sucked out of him.

Cold dread sits in his stomach; what is it that’s so bad that his roommates are reacting like this?

Oikawa walks over to Sato, tapping on his phone before wordlessly handing it over to him. 

It’s the search results for _#oikuro_ on Twitter. Already, the hashtag has a about a hundred posts.

His stomach drops to the floor. This can’t be happening. 

The very first picture he sees is the one he took that night and sent to his girlfriend, and _only_ his girlfriend; the picture that shouldn’t have been able to make its way onto public domain, but now has.

The very one where Kuroo is seemingly embracing Oikawa from behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I realize this isn’t a normal thing to happen to anyone, even if they’re good-looking, but normal is boring.


	7. what fame brings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People handle fame in different ways:
> 
> Kuroo, for all his politeness at the start, starts faking phone calls to get out of talking to strangers. It’s getting to the point where he’s getting asked out at least once a day, and he’s tired of telling people that he is, in fact, taken.
> 
> Oikawa, on his end, is handling this as if he’s used to receiving this level of attention, easily flirting with men, women, and everyone else in between as if he isn’t already harboring a giant crush on his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not American, but I’m hearing all these horrible news regarding the BLM movement. I’ve taken to signing petitions and am planning to buy merch, because I 101% support the end of white supremacy/privilege. Please everyone do their part to speak up because silence isn’t helping anyone.
> 
> Without further ado, here is the latest chapter!

“Alright, so she said she’ll tell her friend to take it down. I’m so, so sorry this happened, I shouldn’t have sent the photo,” Sato tells his roommates. He just got out of a rushed and frantic phone call with his girlfriend about the #oikuro photo. Luckily, she’s being cooperative about the whole situation. 

“It’s also my fault. If I also hadn’t uploaded our photo onto—”

“Stop apologizing,” Kuroo snaps tiredly. “No one knew the Internet’ll suddenly start caring about us overnight. It’s no one’s fault.”

This might be the worst way to come out to a friend, much less to the public, and the fact that Kuroo isn’t angry further drives Sato’s guilt. “But still…” 

“Kuroo’s right, actually.” Oikawa interjects. “There’s nothing more we can do. We all set our accounts to private, and that person will be taking the original post down. Now, we wait until the hype dies down.”

“The real question is, can Oikawa stay off Instagram, Twitter and Facebook for more than two hours.” 

Oikawa laughs. “Of course I can, how do you think I survived volleyball camp?” 

“Could have fooled me. You take selfies like it’s your daily prayers; probably why people thought we were an item in the first place, god forbid.”

“Excuse you, you’d be lucky to date me,”Oikawa says with faux indignation. 

Aside from Sato’s photo that pioneered the cursed hashtag, other people have managed to scour Oikawa’s and Kuroo’s social media for more ‘incriminating’ pictures before they were able to private their accounts. It’s a testament to how many pictures there are that the hashtag has over a hundred posts of them in a span of a few hours. It also doesn’t help that they look good in most of their photos too.

“This though, who the hell took this?” Kuroo asks, showing one of the pictures to them. It’s a photo of them at one of the university’s cafeterias. Oikawa was holding his sandwich towards Kuroo, who was taking a bite off the other end. Neither seemed aware that they were being photographed. 

This isn’t something to make a big deal of, but apparently, people can’t eat each other’s food without being romantically involved now.

“Definitely not either of us… Hm, I’ll go stalk the original poster and see.” 

“And this! I know this is at camp, but seriously how did we not know there’s this floating around on photography club’s Facebook?” The picture in question was during one of the more physical games during their faculty’s fresher’s orientation camp, where they were supposed to get as many ribbons off of people as possible. The cameraman somehow managed to shoot the exact moment where Oikawa tackled Kuroo to the ground, hands reaching for the ribbon around Kuroo’s bicep while Kuroo tried to buck him off. Both of them were sweat-soaked in their camp shirts, sporting wide grins and fiery stares that the Internet has misconstrued into something other than competitive. 

“I know right? You’d think someone would have tagged us, but nooo…” Oikawa sighs. “And my hair looks horrible here. Why can’t they get a better photo?”

Objectively, the photo is of high quality: perfect angle, bright lighting with clean editing, but Sato does not mention this. 

“Well, I guess there’s really nothing we can do than to wait it out,” Kuroo says, getting off the sofa, his back cracking as he stretches. “Sato, you mind cooking? Or do we order in?” 

“I think we have ramen—” Sato starts, but he’s interrupted by a ringing phone. 

Kuroo’s reaction is immediate, as if he’s been waiting for it. 

“Hello?? Has he contacted—Oh…” The disappointment in his tone is obvious. “Okay, thanks, I’m fine…sorry for getting angry at you earlier…yeah, thanks man. Oh, don’t forget to private your Instagram, you have a lot of our pictures…” 

Sato gets up from the sofa and heads to the kitchen. It’s way past his usual lunchtime and he’s also getting hungry. 

Their fridge is starting to empty out. They should go grocery shopping soon. 

“Blondie-kun still MIA?” Oikawa asks when Kuroo ends the call with his friend. 

“Yeah. He said he’d be up late studying, but it’s already 3pm and he hasn’t answered yet!”

Another thing that Sato discovered today: Kuroo has a boyfriend. That’s the whole reason the #oikuro situation is so bad in the first place.

Sato would be lying if he said it didn’t sting that Kuroo didn’t trust him enough, but he understands that homophobia is still prevalent in society, unfortunately. 

“Do you want me to talk to him? He knows me, so I can corroborate—”

“No, he’s not the type to baselessly assume the worst, so I think we’ll be fine.”

Oikawa hums. “So he’s as level-headed in real life as he is in volleyball?”

“Yeah, he—oh shit, Yamamoto—”

“We’re out of rice, but we have ingredients for instant curry with ramen,” Sato says after checking their food supplies. “Or we can order in.” 

Kuroo doesn’t seem to have heard him, too busy typing something on his phone. He looks angry, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. 

Sato looks at Oikawa.

“Okay. We can get pizza? We can get our usual, and maybe some…chicken…wings…” Oikawa trails off, going quiet so suddenly that Sato looks up curiously. 

Oikawa’s face freezes as he stares at his phone. 

It’s jarring. Room 313 has never been this quiet before throughout the duration of their residence. No one moves, until Kuroo’s done typing, putting his phone down with a frustrated noise. 

“Iwa-chan…he replied,” Oikawa says shakily. “Kuroo, how…what do I—” he cuts himself off with an intake of breath, eyes wide and frantic. 

“What did he say?” Kuroo asks, leaning over to read the message. Sato slowly makes his way back to where they’re sitting. 

“‘ _Call me. We need to talk_ ’, oh my God, he hates me!” 

“Calm down, he doesn’t. He probably just wants clarification,” Kuroo says, putting a comforting arm on Oikawa. “A good friend wouldn’t abandon you just because you like men.”

“He’ll be happy that you were honest with him.” Sato says delicately. He knows he’s the most detached and the least affected by this fiasco, but that didn’t mean he can’t offer support. “I mean, I don’t hate you guys, and I’m straight.” _Iwaizumi sure isn’t though_ , he adds internally. He’d wager his savings account that Iwaizumi will be happy to hear that Oikawa likes men.

Unconvinced, Oikawa worries his lip, looking at his phone as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 

Kuroo gives Oikawa a push. “Come on, go call him. I promise it’s not going to be as bad as you think. I was like that when I was telling my friends too.”

“It’s not the same? This is Iwa-chan…” 

“Isn’t ‘Iwa-chan’ your _friend_?” Kuroo asks rhetorically, putting a little too much emphasis on the ‘friend’. “Think of this as telling him that King Kong’s better than Godzilla; it’s not like you’re _confessing_ to him or anything.” 

Sato looks at Kuroo incredulously. Kuroo meets his gaze, lips quirking up as he leans against the wall in a blasé manner. 

Kuroo knows. Kuroo knows that Sato knows, and Sato knows that Kuroo knows: there’s no way this will end badly for Oikawa. 

But everything always seems easier from an outsider’s perspective; to Oikawa, it’s probably one of the scariest things to have to do, especially with such an important friendship on the line. Even now, he’s frozen still, a far-away look on his face, haunted by his own conjurations of ‘what-if’s.

Kuroo gives Oikawa another push as if to physically urge him off off the sofa. 

Finally, after an arduous pause, Oikawa lets out a sigh. “I guess I’m really telling him, then. If he hates me, I’m coming to wring your neck.” 

“Whatever, Mr. Drama Queen.” Kuroo rolls his eyes. “You should save that for the admins of that sexy-whatever account.” 

Oikawa flips him the bird, stalking back to his room and slamming the door. 

Sato lets out a long-suffering groan. He’s hungry and tired and stressed, his friends are still jamming his phone about his (undeserved) rise to fame, and all he wants to do now is crawl back into bed and sleep.

“Mood,” Kuroo says. “Y’know, I’ve always wondered what’s it like to be famous? We’re not that famous, but somehow I thought this would be less stressful.” 

“I think it wouldn’t have been so bad if the hashtag wasn’t a byproduct, again, sorry. No one knows you already have a boyfriend, or that Oikawa’s actually gay and still closeted…” Sato briefly wonders how Akaashi’s faring with his newfound online fame. Hopefully he hasn’t seen those unsavory comments about himself.

“True. It’s scary how fast these things spread. My friends somehow knew about ‘ _oikuro_ ’ before I did and I legit got angry messages from literally everyone who knows about us, and star of the show is still cut off from the world and not answering anyone. I don’t even know if that’s a good thing.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand when you get to explain to him. But your friends must really like your boyfriend, to be angry at you like that.” 

A fond smile flitters on Kuroo’s face, softening his features. “You can say they dote on him. He’s younger than us, and he cares deeply about those he’s close with, even though he’s not good at showing it. And cheating is wrong no matter what, so no surprise that Bokuto and Akaashi went ham on me…”

Akaashi knows? Perhaps that’s why he was reluctant to share a bed with Kuroo that night.

“So…he’s a Tsundere?” 

Kuroo laughs. “You know, I’ve never thought of him as one, but I guess he fits the description almost to a T. He doesn’t go ‘baka’ like you see in anime—”Sato can’t imagine Kuroo’s boyfriend acting like a prepubescent teenage girl either. “—but whenever he knows I’m stressed or just having a bad day, he’ll call and be like: _‘I wasn’t worried about you or anything, just checking on you because no one else would.’_ ” 

Sato imagines a cool monotone saying this to him and shakes his head. Personally, Tsunderes are not his thing, but since Kuroo seems happy, so be it. 

“Actually wait, I don’t think he’s really a Tsundere, he’s just not used to openly displaying emotion. But that’s what makes him so lethal on the volleyball court: his ability to be calm and analytical no matter the situation…” Kuroo says, every word laced with admiration, his eyes glazing over with an ineffable emotion. If only everyone looks like this when talking about their significant others, Japan’s divorce rates wouldn’t be so high. “This is my guilty pleasure, but his insults can send the most macho of men running for the hills, it’s so good when you’re trying to scare the…oh, I’m probably talking too much. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m also curious about your boyfriend. I didn’t even know you were dating him until today.” In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised; they seemed so in tune with one another whenever Sato saw them together. 

“We’ve been keeping our relationship low-key because he’s not out to any of his own friends. Our mutual friends know, because, well, they helped us get together.” Kuroo rubs his neck, averting his eyes shyly. “But that’s like, less than five people, and you and Oikawa. Our families don’t even know.”

Sometimes Sato forgets how blessed he is, as a heterosexual cis male. It’s easy to take for granted what he already had; what he assumed was a given. Because while Sato and his girlfriend don’t go trumpeting their relationship to the world, they don’t make an active effort to hide it either, because why would they? They don’t have a reason to.   
  


It’s sobering to learn that other couples might not have the same privilege as them, and the possibility of receiving social backlash just because of the person he chose as his life partner has never felt so real to Sato before now.

It must also be even harder to maintain a relationship under all the media scrutiny, since they _are_ athletes at a national level after all, and he voices this out. 

“You have no idea how many close calls we’ve had at _Harukou_ with all the…wait, I’ve told you about him before?” 

Sato blinks.

Indeed, Kuroo hasn’t; he’s the one who just assumed. And got it correct too. 

“How’d…you know? That my boyfriend plays volleyball and competed at _Harukou_?” Kuroo asks, and his voice cracks. “Did someone tell you?”

Kuroo looks on the verge of a panic attack, so Sato hurriedly says, “No, no, I just assumed…Don’t worry, nobody told me anything.” 

“Oh.” Kuroo defaltes with relief. “You’re right. No surprise, right? That I’d date someone who plays volleyball? Though he didn’t like it at first. I remember he was so reluctant to play, but alas, he was finally swayed by my charms,” Kuroo cracks a lecherous grin, looking like a horrifying, real-life Lenny face.

“I would have quit the club and ran far away if I saw that face,” Sato deadpans. 

Kuroo laughs. “That’s what he said too. Good thing he’s not in my team, eh?” 

“He—”Sato blinks. Something doesn’t add up. 

The realization splashes him like ice-cold water. “Your boyfriend’s not from Nekoma?” 

“No?” Kuroo seems confused by Sato’s outburst. “You thought he was?”

“Um, yes?” Sato squeaks. What the hell. 

All this time, Sato’s been subconsciously thinking of Kozume Kenma when they were talking about Kuroo’s boyfriend: their characteristics and mannerisms are literally indistinguishable! But with the implicit confirmation that it’s not—because Kozume is from Nekoma—

“It’s not Kozume,” Sato blurts, then claps his hands to his mouth.

Kuroo’s eyes go wide. “ _Kenma_? Oikawa thought it was him too. Do we really look like a couple?” 

_Yes_. Sato wants to say. “I thought you two were very sweet. Your interactions reminded me of my girlfriend and myself, actually.” 

Kuroo and Kozume are platonic, yet they’re still that intimate with each other. Then there’s Iwaizumi and Oikawa. What the hell, again. Is Sato the anomaly for not treating his best friends like that?

“Kenma’s actually never shown any romantic interest in anyone, so sorry to burst your bubble,” Kuroo says with a chuckle. 

“No, I’m the one who should apologize for assuming!” Sato buries his face in his hands, feeling the heat rush up his neck, burning his face and ears off. “I can’t believe I just…I didn’t know what I was thinking.”

“Hey, it’s fine, I’m not offended. Kenma would make the best boyfriend if he ever dates. Whoever it is, that person is really lucky,” Kuroo says, his tone thoughtful. 

“Oh, okay...so if it’s not Kozume-san, who’re you dating?” Sato asks. Time to get acquainted with Kuroo’s real boyfriend this time, no more assumptions. 

“Well. It’s a player from one of our rival schools, even played each other in an official Harukou match, and not gonna lie, that was hot. 10/10 would recommend. My friends are always teasing us for being the modern Romeo and Juliet…”

“It doesn’t feel weird to go against your boyfriend in such a high stakes game?” 

“Not really. We’re both professional enough not to let it affect our play. Both our teams gave it our all, and even though we lost…I’m proud of him,” Kuroo smiles. “He came a long way.” 

Kuroo and his boyfriend are starting to sound like a power couple; Sato would rank them on the same level as Kuroo and Kozume. “What position does he play?” 

“Middle Blocker, like me. Dude, you have no idea how hot it was when we’re both in the front, facing each other. He has a high competitive streak too, so when either of us got a good block in, and the adrenaline… literally feels as good as foreplay.”

“Too much info.” Sato wrinkles his nose as Kuroo laughs unapologetically.

There is a sound of the door opening, and Oikawa steps out of his room, his phone clutched in one hand and the other wiping his eyes with a tissue.

Sato’s heart lurches. Did it go badly after all? 

“So…should I start running?” Kuroo says, looking nervously at Oikawa.

Oikawa shakes his head furiously, eyes wet and glassy. “You’re right. This time. Iwa-chan—oh God he’s so kind and understanding, I don’t deserve…” He blabbers, his voice shaky, before blowing his nose. 

They sag with relief.

“Don’t scare us like that, damn it!” Kuroo says, going over to Oikawa. “You’re seriously crying because Iwaizumi didn’t disown you for liking men. Wow, you are so gay.”

“I’m bi, and shut up! I know you cried watching Totoro. You have no right—”

“Yes, yes. Congratulations. I’m happy for you, really.” 

Oikawa sniffs as more tears slide down his face, but on his face is a wide, dimpled smile that’s bright enough to light up the entire room. 

“You’re such a sap.” Kuroo goes in to hug him, and Oikawa puts his head on Kuroo’s shoulder as the taller man pats him on the back. 

“Iwa-chan really doesn’t hate me.”

“The fuck would he?” Kuroo retorts. 

“I don’t know? Some people have been bullied for liking the same sex!”

“Iwaizumi isn’t that kind of person. You should know best, being his best friend and something more.” 

“I was just scared and—” Sato can pinpoint the exact moment Kuroo’s words register with Oikawa. His face, still lined with tear streaks and pillow marks, burns so red it looks like he’s about to combust. His eyes squeeze shut with more tears, and he punches Kuroo as he babbles incoherently. The sight is oddly endearing. 

“Ow, stop. What do you mean ‘he doesn’t see me that way’? Are you an idiot?” Kuroo asks vexedly. “Are you an idiot sandwich?” He uses his hands to clap a startled Oikawa on both sides of his head. While funny, a Gordon Ramsey insult might not be the best thing to say in this situation, in Sato’s opinion. 

Oikawa huffs, pushing Kuroo off. “Well this _idiot sandwich_ was just going to say that he’s willing to call up his underclassman to check on Blondie-kun for you, but now I guess I change my mind!” 

“No wait, Oikawa—!”

In the midst of Kuroo’s groveling and Oikawa calling his friends to ask for this underclassman’s phone number, Kuroo’s phone goes off again from where it’s lying on the sofa. Sato brings it to their attention.

“Kozume-san’s calling,” Sato says, seeing the name ‘pudding’ flash on the screen along with an unglamorous candid of Kozume. Seriously, he does not want to see what Kuroo has him saved as.

“Toss it here, thanks!”

Kuroo talks to Kozume for a bit, then Sato is jolted by a loud ‘really?’ Followed by profuse thanking. Sato really doesn’t know what’s going on, since he’s too busy scrolling through Foodpanda.

“Okay so Kenma got in touch with chibi-chan from Karasuno. He said Tsukki’s fine, they’re at practice since this morning, so that’s probably why he’s not answering his phone.” 

“Anticlimatic much? Now you can stop worrying every five seconds. Tell Pudding-kun ‘thanks’, because now I don’t have to call Tobio-chan anymore.”

Sato wonders if he should be addressing Kozume as ‘Pudding’ too. 

“Try having Iwaizumi go missing and see how you fare,” Kuroo retorts. Oikawa pretends not to hear him. 

As Kuroo texts Kozume, Sato finally decides on a restaurant to order from. This time, nothing comes between him and his food.

*

With Kuroo’s boyfriend accounted for—Tsukishima had taken the #oikuro thing in good stride, much to everyone’s surprise— the initial hullabaloo gets swept under the rug, and things return to the status quo, as much as possible. 

Sato quickly fades into obscurity, as he expected, as their group photo is overshadowed by the next ‘sexy boy’ featured on the account. #oikuro hasn’t had much new content either, becoming so stagnant a mosquito could probably lay eggs in it. Deeming it safe to be active on social media again, Oikawa is back to posting filtered selfies with Kuroo as if nothing had happened. 

If there is anything that’s changed after their ‘fifteen minutes of fame’, besides the number of followers they have, it is the number of people who take notice of Oikawa and Kuroo. 

His roommates are absolute eyecandies. Sato knows this, and so do the other students of their university. It’s a normal occurrence when girls come up to flirt with Oikawa, or when guys get too handsy with Kuroo, but…

“Kuroo-kun! What’s your favorite colour?” 

“Oikawa-san’s eyes are so pretty!”

“Please accept this! I made it this morning!”

“Are you a spotlight? Because your beauty is blinding~”

“His arms! They’re really as big as they say…”

“Does Oikawa-kun like milk bread?” 

“Are you single?” 

“Are you two dating?”

“Can I have a picture with you, please?”

…This is a completely new ball game. The attention that Oikawa and Kuroo used to receive has quintupled. Wherever they go, they’re recognized and sometimes approached, and initially, they take it in good stride, even laugh about it afterwards. But the novelty wears off after the first few days. 

Whenever Sato is with his roommates, he simply slips away when they are approached, and no one pays him any mind. 

Kuroo, for all his politeness at the start, starts faking phone calls to get out of talking to strangers. It’s getting to the point where he’s getting asked out at least once a day, and he’s tired of telling people that he is, in fact, taken: 

“Should I just get ‘I’m dating Tsukki’ tattooed on my forehead?”

“No, Kuroo.” 

Oikawa, on his end, is handling this as if he’s used to receiving this level of attention, easily flirting with men, women, and everyone else in between as if he isn’t already harboring a giant crush on his best friend.

The best friend in question is currently standing next to Sato, his brow twitching, jaw clenching, and looking like he’s about to commit genocide. 

“Iwaizumi…calm down,” Kuroo says, looking at the other warily. “Kenma won’t be here for ten more minutes, we can chill.” 

“Doesn’t mean he can keep the rest of us waiting. He’s always doing this, even in high school…Kuroo, give me that for a sec.” 

“This?” Confused, Kuroo hands Iwaizumi his bottle of oolong tea he just bought from the vending machine. What neither of them expect is for Iwaizumi to wind-up, extend his arm far back, and throw the bottle right at Oikawa. 

“Aack!” The bottle slams into Oikawa before falling to the ground, rolling away. His admirers scream in shock.

Sato could hardly believe his eyes. If Iwaizumi isn’t already playing for their volleyball team, he might make a good addition to the baseball team.

“Opps. My hand slipped,” Iwaizumi says robotically, fingers clenching and unclenching. The bloodthirsty glint in his eyes is somewhat quenched, but his face is set in an angry frown.

“Iwa-chan! I could have died!” 

“Sorry. I meant to aim for your head, but I guess I’m out of practice.” If glares could kill, Oikawa would be dead. 

Iwaizumi’s stony expression has Oikawa faltering, and he instantly becomes more subdued. “Please excuse me, my friends are waiting for me over there.” 

“Awww, at least give us your number?” 

I’m afraid we don’t know each other well enough yet. You can follow me on Instagram or Twitter though, I’ll respond there!” Oikawa winks, blowing them a kiss before he trots back to the group. He picks up the bottle along the way. 

“Iwa-chan, you threw a _bottle_ full of liquid at me! What’s next, a flowerpot?” Oikawa whines, whacking Iwaizumi with said weapon. 

“Because you’re wasting other people’s time. Have some consideration.” One of Iwaizumi’s hands grips the bottle to stop the repeated assault on his chest. The hands tightly overlap, and they stare at each other, unblinking. 

Iwaizumi’s grip loosens as his anger dissipates. Oikawa turns away, eyes wide, pink dusting his cheeks. 

“You guys are so buying me a new one,” Kuroo says loudly, and they both jolt. “I don’t want to catch your gay germs.”

Sato refrains from reminding Kuroo that he himself is gay. 

They meet up with Kozume at a nearby restaurant. Kuroo hands Kozume a book the latter had asked for—about volleyball strategy plays— and that somehow prompts Kuroo and Oikawa to bombard Kozume with ‘captaincy tips’, with Iwaizumi occasionally chiming in his two cents. Sato, who has never held a leadership position in his 12 years of formal education, could only sit and listen with appreciation for his own ex-captain. 

Kozume has morning practice the next day, so they quickly wrap up when it’s getting dark, and sends Kozume off at the metro like an entourage of guards.

“It’s Kuroo-san!!” 

Kozume jumps. If he was a cat, his ears and tail would probably be erect. That shriek is loud. 

“Oh my God! It really is!” 

“Oh! That’s Oikawa-san!” 

Before they knew it, a gaggle of girls have formed a barricade in from of them, clutching each other and giggling. They were all wearing school uniforms with skirts shorter than what Sato remembers is allowed at his high school. 

Kozume sidles closer to Kuroo, looking warily at the girls. Kuroo puts a hand on the other’s shoulder. 

“We saw you on that Instagram page ‘Tokyo sexy boys’, and we think you both are very handsome!” One of the girls say, blushing and giggling. 

It’s not as if are three other people there or anything; Sato sighs, taking a huge step back per protocol as he prepares to be ignored for the next five minutes. Iwaizumi joins him, shaking his head and letting out an annoyed huff. 

“Wow, thank you, I’m flattered,” Oikawa says, winking. The girls swoon. 

“Thank you too,” Kuroo says, plastering a smile on his face. “It’s getting late though, you girls should hurry home, or your parents will be worried.” 

Instead of having the desired effect, that only gets the girls more excited—Sato doesn’t blame them; Kuroo in real life is more handsome than in pictures, no homo—and they become over exuberant, begging Oikawa and Kuroo for a picture, for an autograph, for a hug. Sato wouldn’t be surprised if those girls were actually high on something. It shouldn’t be humanly possible to be so annoying. 

Kozume grows stiffer as time goes by and the girls invade more into their personal space. Sato sees his hand grasp at Kuroo’s bomber jacket from behind, giving it a few hard tugs. 

That gets Kuroo’s attention immediately. He looks down at his friend, who is this close to glueing himself to Kuroo’s side and looking very small in his oversized school varsity jacket. Kuroo tilts his head in a silent affirmation, his smile diminishing. 

He gives Oikawa a nudge. “Oi, we have a group meeting at nine, right?” 

Without missing a beat, Oikawa replies, “Oh, that’s right! We have to get going now, but please get home safely, ladies!”

“Awww, can we have at least one picture with you?” 

Oikawa looks at Kuroo. 

“Pleaseee?”

“Alright. One.” Kuroo gently pushes Kozume back, his hand lingering on the other’s arm for a beat too long. One of the girls stare at Kozume with beady eyes before her attention is quickly diverted by Oikawa’s charm. 

The girls plant themselves on Oikawa’s and Kuroo’s sides, and after Oikawa takes a hurried selfie, Kuroo says again in a firm, warning tone, that they‘re in a hurry. 

Kozume still looks spooked, eyes trained on the girls even as they leave in a fit of giggles. Had Sato been Kozume just now, he might as well have turned gay, if he was honest. 

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Yes. Just not used to Kuro being this…celebrity-like.”

Sato belatedly realizes that this is Kozume’s first time feeling the second-hand effects of Oikawa and Kuroo’s fame. “Oh. This has been happening for a week now, since that photo, but it’s getting better.” 

“Sorry about that. They’re usually not this persistent,” Kuroo says, ruffling Kozume’s hair. “You’re okay, right?”

The smaller man relaxes, seemingly comforted by Kuroo’s ministrations. “…You really weren’t exaggerating.” 

“Come on, when have I ever? The public just can’t resist our pretty faces.” 

Kozume bats the other away with a roll of his eyes, pushing past Kuroo in a show of annoyance as Kuroo and Oikawa snigger and high-five each other. 

But Sato catches the smile that inadvertently bursts out, lifts the apples of his cheeks and compresses his eyes into crescents of glittering gold. Words are superfluous when all it takes is one small gesture for Kozume to convey everything Kuroo would be glad to know.

It’s therefore a pity that Kozume purposely doesn’t let Kuroo see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you flame me in the comments, I PROMISE the KuroKen tag isn’t clickbait! This will be eventual Kuroken (because I am a sucker for childhood friends to lovers), just have patieeeence
> 
> I tried sprinkling hints since the previous 2-3 chapters alluding to Kuroo’s not-single status and the identity of his boyfriend. Who managed to guess that it wasn’t Kenma? Or was it too obtuse? Let me know :D


	8. boyfriend material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 4 times Iwaizumi Hajime is boyfriend material (plus the 1 time he’s not).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I confirm that this fic’s end goal will be Kuroken. sorry to the Kurotsuki fans that might be disappointed, but I can’t also not tag it because it’s a literal established relationship :(
> 
> (I also love Kurotsuki tbh, I think their combined sass makes them such a power couple)

1

“ _Kanpai_!” The group of college students clink their glasses of non-alcoholic drinks.

Sato gulps down his tea, the cold liquid rejuvenating his parched throat.

“We’re finally done, guys!” His friend shouts, and one would think that he’d won the lottery with how happy he is. “We don’t have to see that bastard Nakamura ever again-”

“-Until second year,” someone else points out, only to get booed at.

“That’s a problem for future us. Right now, I don’t want to even hear anyone say that geezer’s name.” There’s a chorus of agreements, because if there’s one thing that brings college students together, it’s their common hatred for that one mean professor.

Sato leans back against his chair, happy to let his groupmates—or rather, ex-groupmates—take over the conversation, recapping the peaks and troughs of their semester-long group project, for which today wraps the final presentation. There’s still a pesky 5k word report to get through for this module, but that’s a problem for later.

With eight people eager to weigh their thoughts on the same topic, there’s no lull in the conversation as everyone takes turns praising each other’s strengths, jokes about past intra-group drama, and trash talks their professors for the fun of it. 

“I’m going to get a refill,” Sato says when his glass has long been empty, and his friend moves so he can exit the booth.

“Get a sprite for me too, please.”

“Green tea if you don’t mind!”

Sato ends up carrying three glasses to the drinks machine. He fills ice into the three cups and then realizes that they’ve run out of green tea.

“Excuse me, could you refill the green tea please?” Sato tells a passing waitress.

“Of course, right away!”

The waitress promises to be back soon, so Sato opts to stand there and wait rather than going back to and from his table many times. He presses himself against one of the pillars to avoid getting in the way of passersby, and glances around the restaurant for lack of anything else better to do.

One particular person catches his eye.

It’s Iwaizumi at the front door, looking like he’s just coming in. He’s a little far away, but Sato would recognize those defined shoulders and arms anywhere, especially if it’s out for display in that tank top.

He nearly misses Iwaizumi’s companion, whose height only reaches up to Iwaizumi’s chest. Sato only notices her when Iwaizumi bends down to hear what she’s saying, drawing Sato’s attention to her.

The girl has a nice figure, with her petite figure, slim waist and large behind. Her skin-tight exercise attire doesn’t leave much to imagination, and Sato is ashamed to say that his thoughts have wandered for a second. But he is loyal, so his attention shifts back to Iwaizumi.

Looking at Iwaizumi’s attire, Sato deduces that Iwaizumi is, like that girl, fresh from a gym session. He’s carrying two bulky duffel bags, each one crisscrossed across his chest on different sides. They look heavy, but if they were, Iwaizumi shows no signs of it, talking with the girl with animated hand gestures as the girl laughs. 

A bag strap slips. Iwaizumi adjusts it, and it hits Sato that one of the bags probably belongs to the girl. One look at her shows that she’s empty handed save for her phone.

Now Sato wouldn’t have paid much attention to that—might even admire Iwaizumi for being such a role model for all the boyfriends in this world—if he isn’t so fixated on the very possibility that Iwaizumi and the girl might have something more platonic going on:

Not for his own sake, but for a certain someone who might appreciate such information.

The girl’s now pointing to something on her phone, and then holding up her arm to take a selfie. Iwaizumi bends down slightly to be in the frame, and she scoots close to him, their shoulders bumping as they smile at the phone camera.

Confusion bubbles in him as he continues to watch the pair, because Sato has _never_ seen Iwaizumi so willing to take a selfie. His roommates are selfie addicts, but usually, whenever Iwaizumi is in their pictures, it’s because he was either goaded by Kuroo, or annoyed into submission by Oikawa. It’s never by his own volition.

Then, the girl says something and squeezes Iwaizumi’s ‘gorilla-like’ biceps, and Iwaizumi lets her, even laughing at her antics. He doesn’t seem annoyed or uncomfortable at all.

That throws Sato in for a loop, because isn’t Iwaizumi supposed to be having a crush on Oikawa?

Even Kuroo, an actual gay guy, confirms that he’s 99% sure they like each other.

Sato doesn’t thinks that he and Kuroo are wrong though, so he concludes that he’s probably reading too much into this.

So lost in his thoughts was Sato, he didn’t notice a waitress coming up to him.

“Sir, the green tea is refilled.”

“Oh, thank you.” He hopes she didn’t notice him staring at Iwaizumi too long.

When Sato finally has his friend’s glass refilled and is heading back to his friends, he sees Iwaizumi leave with the girl, a bag of takeout in his hands.

And when their platters of sashimi finally arrive at their table, all non food-related thoughts are promptly wiped from Sato’s mind.

*

2

“Hello?”

“You won’t believe what happened,” his girlfriends yells at him from his phone, and Sato has to turn the volume down a notch. “Nino-chan broke up with her boyfriend!”

“O-kay?” Sato supposes he should pretend to care. “That’s…sad?”

“Yuma-kun,” she says, amusement coloring her tone. “Just tell me that you don’t know who I’m talking about.” Oops, busted.

“Yeah, sorry, so who’s Nino again?”

Sato listens with half an ear to her narration of the rise and fall of Nino and her ex—very exclusive content that she’s not supposed to tell anyone, but boyfriends are apparently an exception— as he reads through Nino’s rant on Instagram story.

_‘—and then boom! I caught them. And he was saying the usual “you’ve got it all wrong, we’re just friends” but no enough is enough! What kind of ‘friends’ act that way around each other??_

_If you read up until here then thanks for hearing out my side of the story and not believing his lies. Will tell more tomorrow but for now, bye!’_

“Oh wow, that was intense,” Sato says when he finishes reading Nino’s latest story. “But to be honest, even though the guy was technically wrong, she was too jealous in the earlier stages…”

Sato absentmindedly browses through his other friends’ stories as he playfully debates with his girlfriend about that nasty breakup. His friends all have such interesting lives.

“I know, but she might be overreacting to…” Sato abandons his train of thought to focus on the current story playing on his phone:

_‘Get you a man who can do both @iwajime1’,_ reads the caption.

Iwaizumi has reposted someone’s story, consisting of two pictures of himself: on the left is him doing the overhead press in the gym, face set in concentration, his pectorals and deltoids straining, making him seem powerful and intimidating. On the right is of him in a kitchen, a hand in his pocket and a spatula in another. He’s stirring something in a pot, looking the picture perfect domestic boyfriend.

Iwaizumi is a man of duality indeed. Even Sato could see that Iwaizumi would be such a catch.

His girlfriend calls his name, and Sato reassures her that he’s still there.

Still, he clicks on the story, and he’s brought to the account that originally posted the story—it’s a cute, perky brunette studying sports science as well, according to her bio.

Her latest upload is a selfie of herself and Iwaizumi studying in the library, the afternoon sun filtering in through the glass panels, forming a rainbow. The girl is posing with a peace sign, her arm on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi’s head is tilted towards the camera with a relaxed smile, the natural light painting his skin golden honey.

Sato daresay this is one of the best photos he’s seen of the other man.

Of course, with such a photo comes the comments suggesting them as a couple, which neither Iwaizumi nor the girl confirmed or denied.

“Do you think girls and guys can have a purely platonic relationship?” Sato wonders aloud to his girlfriend.

“Huh, what brought this on?”

“Oh, uh…Just wondering. I mean, I’ve never seen close friends of the opposite sex where neither side catches feelings for the other…” Sato rambles absentmindedly, scrolling to read the comments under that picture.

His girlfriend hums. “Well, wouldn’t it depend on their sexual preferences? Like that roommate you keep telling me about that likes guys—”

“You have to specify which one,” Sato says dryly.

“Doesn’t matter. I was going to say that your roommate wouldn’t catch feelings no matter how many galfriends he has, because he’s gay.”

She has a point.

“And even if they’re straight, if they already in love with someone else, then I don’t think they would suddenly turn to like each other—”

It’s as if his girlfriend is reading his mind, or she’s scarily perceptive.

“—Otherwise, I’d have liked ten different guys by now, don’t you think,” his girlfriend finishes. “But I’m still with you, so yeah, opposite sex platonic relationships are possible…was that what you were asking?”

Enlightened, Sato nods in understanding. “…You’re amazing.”

“Ha, I know.”

*

3

“Thank you, come again!”

The convenience store is empty again, and Sato stifles a yawn. This is what he likes about working on Friday evenings; less customers, which means more downtime for Sato.

Sato leans back against the cigarettes cabinet behind him, watches his upperclassman restock the shelves as he wonders whether he should make pancakes for brunch tomorrow, when the bell chimes loudly from the front, signaling a customer.

He straightens up and yells a cheery ‘welcome, good evening!’ as a tall deliveryman in uniform walks in. The man removes his cap, revealing short, spiky hair and a very familiar face.

“Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi turns towards him in surprise. “Sato? You work here?”

Sato has been working at this convenience store on the edge of campus since the first month of the semester, but he guesses it hasn’t cropped up in conversation before. “Yes, I didn’t know you were a deliveryman either.” Sato vaguely recognizes the uniform belonging to a ramen chain restaurant in Tokyo.

“I only started recently…but wow, coincidence.” Iwaizumi groans as he stretches, the thin material of his uniform stretching tightly over his arms. The HR manager probably took one look at Iwaizumi’s physique, and it’s an instant hire. “This area gets a lot of deliveries, so I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Drop by whenever you can. If it’s downtime like now, we can talk for a bit.”

“Sure…Do you know where—oh, never mind.” Iwaizumi says as he heads to the toiletries aisle.

Sato doesn’t think much of it.

Then Iwaizumi comes out again not a minute later, looking incredibly lost.

“Hey, where are the sanitary pads?” He asks, and Sato’s eyebrows fly into his hairline.

‘ _Sanitary pads? The ones women use on their period?’_ Sato thinks, unsure if he misheard.

But before he could ask Iwaizumi to repeat his earlier statement, Iwaizumi’s already on a call with someone. “Yeah I know, those winged ones with the blue packaging, 30cm… _yes_ , I know the difference, don’t underestimate me. You need anything else?”

So Sato wasn’t hallucinating after all. He doesn’t even know whether to be more astonished about Iwaizumi’s knowledge of women’s hygiene products, or the fact that he’s buying it at all, and barely manages to school his face back into one of professionalism before Iwaizumi ends the call.

“You go to the detergents aisle. Continue walking down and you’ll see the pads,” Sato tells him. “The layout is weird, I know.”

“Right? Last time I checked, pads were still considered toiletries…anyways, thanks.” He walks off casually to where Sato directs him like someone who’d done this many times.

This begs the question. Has he? Or is he simply mature enough not to get embarrassed by such trivial things?

Sato himself is no stranger to sanitary pads—or even the more ‘suggestive’ items like birth control—thanks to his girlfriend. But Iwaizumi has never dated before, according to Oikawa. The man is always joking about Iwaizumi being a celibate, much to his chagrin and Sato’s amusement.

_‘So Iwaizumi have a girlfriend now.’_ Sato’s mind concludes, and he has to pump the metaphorical brakes because firstly, Iwaizumi likes Oikawa; secondly, there’s no rule saying men can’t buy pads for their female friends.

_‘But that’s really rare. Some boyfriends don’t even do this for their girlfriends,’_ his imaginary opponent immediately counters.

_‘Shut up, brain.’_

Iwaizumi is heading back to the cashier, so Sato calms himself down and resumes his professional front. “Would that be all? We’re currently having a sale for these cookies, buy one get one free. Would you like them as well?”

The pumpkin-shaped cookies lay sadly in a basket beside the cash register, long outliving the festivities they were made for.

“Okay, sure.”

Sato dutifully scans the items, setting them back down since the other man declined a plastic bag. Other than the lone eight-piece pack sanitary pads, the rest is food with enough sugar to turn a healthy person diabetic.

“You look like you’re headed to a children’s sleepover,” Sato says lightly. He couldn’t resist his curiosity.

Iwaizumi snorts. “I might as well be. We’re having a movie marathon tonight.”

“That will be 1853 yen, please.” Sato is disappointed with the lack of information, but it’s none of his business anyway.

“Hey, you coming for Kuroo’s birthday party?”

“Kuroo?” Sato receives Iwaizumi payment, while his mental calendar works to recall the date. “Oh yeah, yeah I am.” He finds it odd hearing about a party—organized by law students for other law students—from a sports science student. But he figures that Oikawa must have told Iwaizumi about it and invited him.

“Right, see you there. Pretty sure it’s a disaster waiting to happen, but no one can stop captain when he sets his mind to something.”

“Yeah, see…you?” Sato blinks, his addled brain only processing Iwaizumi’s words after the other has left. _Captain?_

He wonders if they were even talking about the same party.

He doesn’t have to wonder for too long, for Sato gets his answer later on that night, after he gets back from work.

“Welcome back,” Oikawa says, from the sofa, glasses on his nose, legs on the coffee table, and laptop on his thighs as he types away.

Sato hums out a greeting as he heads to the fridge for a glass of water. “Oh, I saw Iwaizumi at work today. Since when was he a deliveryman?” He purposely neglects to mention Iwaizumi buying the sanitary pads.

Oikawa blinks. “You saw…how? But yeah he started around after midterms. Honestly, I told him it’s too taxing on him, because he has his coursework, volleyball, and now he’s riding a bike around the city. But I should have known that Iwa-chan would like that…”

Sato imagines strong, muscular Iwaizumi in his tight-fitting uniform, a cooler strapped to the back and cycling along the streets of Tokyo. Surprisingly, the image suits him. “Are you also working at the same place?”

“Oh no,” Oikawa replies with a small laugh. “I prefer less… taxing ways to earn my money. I’m not a gorilla like Iwa-chan.”

With a face and body like that, Sato is half expecting Oikawa to reveal that he’s a host in Shinjuku, or something like that, but he doesn’t elaborate, and the topic dies.

“Oh yeah, the team’s throwing a party for Kuroo next Friday. You want in?”

“Wait, but we have the party…oh, the _volleyball team.”_

It makes sense now: the party Iwaizumi was talking about is _this_ one, while the party Sato was thinking of is the huge bash, organized by their more proactive classmates, for everyone born in November.

“But I’m not part of the team…?” Not that Sato isn’t grateful, but he would be so out of place surrounded by tall, buff athletes, not to mention he wouldn’t know anyone there.

“That’s okay, our teammates are also inviting their friends, so it’s not exclusive.”

“I see…I have work, though we can celebrate amongst ourselves after the party?” Next Friday is the actual day of Kuroo’s birthday, so while Sato doesn’t want to attend the volleyball team’s party, he would be hard-pressed to miss out on celebrating with his friend on his special day.  
  


Oikawa brightens. “Hm. Good idea, actually. I’ll get our senpai to help buy us some alcohol.”

“If we’re all down, I’ll move my shift so I can leave earlier.”

“But we have to ask Kuroo first, ‘cus if I remember correctly his boyfriend’s coming over that night. Or was it Saturday?”

“He is? I don’t remember…”

“We’ll just ask him later,” Oikawa says with finality. “Pretty sure he’ll be down, though.”

*

4

Sato returns from the library one night to his uncharacteristically somber roommates.

The both of them are still in their sportswear, fresh out of volleyball practice and permeating the air with human musk and testosterone. While that in itself isn’t anything out of the ordinary, what is is the thoracic curvature of Oikawa’s back as he curls into a ball on the sofa, a face towel draped over his head, and the hardness in Kuroo’s face, void of his easy smile as he stands with his arms folded.

“W-What’s happening?”

Sato’s presence lightens the mood, even if slightly.

Kuroo turns away from Oikawa, addressing Sato, “This idiot hurt himself again.”

_This isn’t the first time,_ Sato deduces. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Oikawa’s croaky voice indicates that he’s anything but. “It’ll get better in a few days.”

“I practically had to _carry_ you back here, you were lucky I was nearby. Why didn’t you go to the hospital before?”

Oikawa shifts in his seat, and shakes his head. “It’ll get better in a few days,” he repeats.

“You know, I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure repeated injuries at the same area is a sign something’s wrong. You know it too, but you keep practicing like the devil’s at your heels. Take better care of yourself, will you?”

Thunder blares overhead, muting Oikawa’s answer. Sato looks between the two, unsure if he should intervene, because the tension in the room is so prominent, it practically has its own wavelength.

But Kuroo just sighs tiredly, and says, “I have some salonpas left. I’ll go get it.”

Kuroo heads into his room, leaving Sato awkwardly standing with Oikawa, still slouched and unmoving. The towel drapes down until his neck and curtains his face, leaving Sato unable to discern his facial expressions.

Sato toes off his shoes, lining them neatly at the entranceway. “Oikawa.”

No response.

“Oikawa,” he says again, but louder. “Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Sato isn’t surprised, having expected that answer. “Do you want an ice pack? It looks like it’s swelling.”

The other man hesitates. Then, Sato spots a nod, just barely there.

A thunderclap sounds. Pellets of rain drum down on their windows as Sato wraps a couple of ice cubes in a plastic bag, tying the mouth with a rubber band. He grabs a dishcloth then heads over to Oikawa.

“…Thank you.” Oikawa’s voice is barely audible over the sounds of nature. It’s as if all his poise and confidence has been zapped out of him; it’s unsettling to see.

Kuroo comes back into the room.

“Here’s some salonpas, and muscle relief cream for the fatigue. This goes without saying, but you shouldn’t play for another two weeks at least. I’ll tell coach—”

There are loud knocks at the door. Everyone turns towards the door in reflex.

“That’s probably Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa moves for the first time since Sato sees him. “You told him?” He sounds almost accusatory.

“Of course I did. Someone needs to beat the sense back into you.”

“You shouldn’t have…I don’t want—”

More knocks sound, this time more persistent. Oikawa quiets, gives Kuroo a sullen look like a child being denied candy.

“Well too bad.” Kuroo goes to open the door, and predictably, Iwaizumi is there, wet umbrella in hand and an even wetter shirt sticking to his torso. The rain is coming down full force, and it even sounds like a storm might be brewing.

“How is he?” Iwaizumi asks, his voice gruff.

Thunder roars in the background.

“Eh, not too happy, as you can see, but he’s alive.”

Iwaizumi squeezes the water out of his clothes before stepping in, taking off his shoes and socks. He and Kuroo briefly talk in hushed voices, and Kuroo claps him on the shoulder.

Oikawa doesn’t look up even when Iwaizumi calls him. If anything, he seems to curl in on himself even more.

Iwaizumi approaches Oikawa, standing over him, casting a dark shadow over the latter.

He rests his hand on the other’s head.

“Why do you always make me worry, Shittykawa?” It shocks everyone else in the room, most of all Oikawa, how gentle he sounds. Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi, eyes wide, jaw hanging. “How bad is it this time?”

Without waiting for an answer, Iwaizumi kneels down on the floor. His fingers brush over Oikawa’s hand holding the makeshift ice pack over his right knee, nudging them to the side. His touches are feather-light, palpating around the swell with the ease that could only come from experience, looking up ever so often to gauge the other’s reaction.   
  


Sato watches them, transfixed at how delicately Iwaizumi treats Oikawa, all of his love and care pervading his every movement, every murmur of encouragement; as if Oikawa is a king, and he a loyal knight.

“Kuroo—”

Kuroo jolts. “Yeah?” It seems Sato isn’t the only one distracted.

“You got any bandages? Preferably ACE wraps.”

“Oh. I do, gimme a sec.”

Kuroo disappears into his room again, and Sato follows him, because something tells him he should leave those two alone. It could be the electricity in the air, or the slight quiver of Oikawa’s body at Iwaizumi’s touches, or the painful tenderness in Iwaizumi’s gaze, barely masked with worry, or it could be all of the above. It feels like an explosion incoming, and Sato does not want to be caught in the middle when it happens.

Sato sneezes when a strong waft of Kuroo’s body spray tickles his nostrils; the room smells like it’s been doused with it. Closing the door behind them, he makes himself comfortable on Kuroo’s chair, absently taking in the posters and sticky notes that litter the walls as the owner rummages through his drawers.

“Do you think they’ll finally crack and confess?” Kuroo asks, breaking the silence between them.

“I don’t know,” Sato answers truthfully. “But did something happen between them? It felt…uncomfortable just now, I don’t know how to say it…”

“I get you. But nothing happened. At least, to my knowledge. They were fine at practice a few days ago. Though Oikawa wasn’t performing his best since our practice match last week…and I think the stress really got to him, since coach has to decide the roster for the Intercollegiate Volleyball Championship soon.”

“But you guys are so good?” Sato has seen them play before, and suffice to say, they deserved all the tout they got in high school.

Kuroo gives a surprised laugh, as if no one has ever told him that before. “Thanks. But we are only Freshies, and there are like, 30 other skilled upperclassmen who want to play too. Our team is a powerhouse team after all.”

“You guys can do it, I believe.”

“I hope so—ah, found it!” Kuroo holds up a new roll of ACE elastic bandages, still sealed in its box. “Now let’s see if it’s safe for us to come out yet. Haha, get it? _Come out_ …”

Sato gives Kuroo the most unimpressed look he can muster.

Kuroo opens the door large enough for them to peek through, but not enough to be conspicuous, just in time to witness Oikawa going in to hug Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi yelps in surprise, hands hovering awkwardly as Oikawa buries his head in his chest.

The towel drops from Oikawa’s head onto the floor.

“What a development: Oikawa’s finally up to bat,” Kuroo whispers. “Now we wait another decade for them to get to first base.”

Sato barely holds in his laughter.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, voice piercing through the rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops. He doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t have to. Iwaizumi understands what he’s getting at regardless.

Iwaizumi finally regains control of his hands and hesitantly places them on Oikawa’s waist. “Idiot.” He chuckles, moving to rest his chin on Oikawa’s head. Subconsciously, Oikawa tilts his head so it fits against the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck.  
  


Even though Oikawa’s fringe, matted with sweat, is sticking to his forehead and the rest of his hair is a frizzy mess; even though there are thin, hallow lines across his forehead and down his nasolabial sulcus; even though his eyes are red-rimmed and half-lidded as he stares unseeingly into space, lost in thought, Iwaizumi looks at him as if he’s the prettiest person he has ever laid eyes on.  
  


Honestly, Sato doesn’t know how two people who know each other like the back of their hand can be so oblivious to something so obvious. If he had any doubts before on whether these two are in love with each other, he sure doesn’t anymore.

“This is so gay, I cannot,” Kuroo mutters. “Let’s wait another five minutes.”

Sato wholeheartedly agrees.

*

(+1)

“Iwa-chan, can you get me milk bread?”

“Get it yourself.”

“But I’m injured!”

“You’re injured, not disabled…physically at least,” Iwaizumi deadpans. Kuroo guffaws and almost sprays water onto his laptop.

“You both said I shouldn’t use my leg for two weeks, so really, I’m just following your advice.”

“We meant volleyball. Stop using it as an excuse to get us to do stuff for you.”

“Iwa-chann,” Oikawa drags out the nickname. “You said I need to cherish of my body more—”

Patience wearing thin, Iwaizumi looks up from his study notes to glower at Oikawa, as if to shut the other up with willpower alone. In return, Oikawa gives Iwaizumi his best puppy-dog pout, jutting out his lower lip and blinking profusely in a manner that is supposed to be endearing.

“Pretty please? I’m really craving it, but the store’s too far!”

From what Sato has seen of their interactions, he expects Iwaizumi to grumble, but give in to Oikawa’s demands anyway. But Iwaizumi doesn’t.

“Kuroo, you hear something? I think it sounds like a mosquito?”

Kuroo is confused for a few seconds, then understanding dawns upon him.

“Nah, I think it sounds more like a fruit fly.”

“Damn, that’s annoying. We should get out the fly trap.”

“Iwa-chan and Kuro-chan are bullying the sick!” Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a light kick with his good leg. Kuroo and Iwaizumi show no sign of acknowledgement.

Kuroo continues to play along, his expression neutral aside from the mirth in his eyes. “Good idea. Sato, we should totally buy one when we go shopping.”

Sato’s not mean enough to gang up on Oikawa in a 3v1, no matter how annoying the other man is, so he wisely doesn’t say anything.

“On second thought, sometimes fly traps don’t work. I think a flyswatter would do better.”

“Oh, killing it in one fell swoop, I see.”

”Yup, gotta make it fast and painless.”

“You guys are so mean. I’m not talking to you anymore!” Oikawa wails, yanking his headphones up from his neck to cover his ears. He pulls his laptop up to his chest, making a show of being engrossed in work.

The two perpetrators laugh obnoxiously, totally unapologetic.

Sato almost feels sorry for Oikawa. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like the IwaOi bomb won’t be detonating this chapter. Stay tuned to find out when :D


	9. Unexpected visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sato wonders just when this simple birthday celebration had spiral into a plot from a soap opera.
> 
> Alternatively: Oikawa and Kuroo get drunk.

**Happy Birthgay!!! (3)**

**Sato Y.**

Just ended work

Are you guys back yet?

**Kuroo T.**

We leavig

Oikawa wru

OIkawaAa

**Sato Y.**

Should I get anything else?

**Kuroo T.**

Soda watr

**Sato Y.**

Ok

**Oikawa T.**

We’re already downstairs at the bike rack

Come down

**Kuroo T.**

OMW

Walking there

**Oikawa T.**

Also Sato, don’t forget the Asahi super dry

**Kuroo T.**

Suntory is better

**Oikawa T.**

It’s not even that good

I’m Iwaizumi btw

Don’t shoot the messenger

**Kuroo T.**

IT IS

pREMIUM MALTTTTS

**Sato Y.**

…

I’ll just get a mix of both.

**Oikawa T.**

Oikawa says sure

Just met with Kuroo

Time ETA 20

**Sato Y.**

Ok

I’m almost there.

**-**

Sato puts his phone away, looking both ways before crossing the road. An opaque duffel bag hangs from his grip, its contents incriminating enough to get him and his friends arrested because technically, they’re not legal to drink yet. But it’s a good friend’s birthday today, and what’s a college party without some alcohol?

The three roommates had been planning this ‘after-party’ for a whole week now, working to align their schedules and bootlicking their seniors to obtain the booze stash. It’s finally time to reap the fruits of their labor.

Sato rides up the elevator to their floor, texting the group chat to let them know he’s arrived safely. He rounds the corner to their room, and halts in his steps when he sees a familiar figure leaning against the railing of their open corridor.

Kozume Kenma stares aimlessly at the bustling people downstairs, his expression thoughtful. His woolen scarf and dyed hair billowing with the rush of wind against him, exposing his flushed cheeks and nose. Under his winter puffer, he’s in his red Nekoma varsity jacket and track pants—he must have come straight after practice—along with a pair of large headphones on his head.

“Kozume-san.”

Kozume blinks, but not at Sato, his gaze still trained downwards. He doesn’t seem to have heard him.

Sato clears his throat. “Kozume-san,” he says, very loudly.

That seemed to do the trick. Kozume notices Sato and immediately pulls his headphones down to his neck. “Sato-san. Good evening.”

“What are you…wait, why didn’t you tell Kuroo you were coming?” Sato is pretty sure Kuroo wouldn’t keep Kozume waiting out in the cold, and he hasn’t even mentioned to them that Kozume would be on their unofficial guest list tonight. Therefore, Sato could only assume that Kozume showed up without warning.

Kozume pulls the scarf back up, covering his chin and mouth. “Just felt like it. Is today no good?”

“No, no” Sato hurriedly says before Kozume could suggest to leave. “They’re coming back from their party with the team right now, so you can come in and wait…you should have called one of us to say you were here—”

Sato opens the door to their room and beckons Kozume in.

“No, it’s okay. I was just going to give him this, and I’ll get going.”

Kozume hands Sato the neatly wrapped box he brought. Their fingers brush; Kozume’s are stone-cold.

“Why don’t you give this to him directly? He’ll be here very soon.” Kozume coming all this way, waiting outside in the corridor for who knows how long, only to miss the birthday boy by minutes seems like a waste to Sato.

Kozume shakes his head, picking his messenger bag up from the floor and swinging it over his shoulder. He hasn’t even stepped into the room. “I have to head home, it’s curfew soon.”

The minor protection law in Japan denotes that everyone below the age of eighteen isn’t permitted outside unsupervised after 11pm and before 4am; Kozume is still affected by this law since he’s still a high schooler, despite already being eighteen.

It’s currently quarter past ten.

“Oh, right. Then let me walk you down.” It’s the least he could do.

Kozume nods gratefully, pulling up the hood of his puffer.

Sato leaves the box at the genkan for now and puts his shoes back on. He shuts the door, and together they retrace their steps back down to the ground floor.

It seems luck is on their side tonight, because they run into his roommates in front of the building.

Kuroo blinks. He stops walking, and Kozume does too.

“…Kuro, Hap—”

Kuroo drops the bag he’s holding and leaps forward, gathering the smaller man in his arms. It happened so fast, so sudden that it takes the rest of them a few solid seconds to process Kuroo’s actions.

Sato edges away from the pair.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi stop bickering.

Not even Kozume himself seems to know what to do.

“Kenma,” Kuroo breathes, nuzzling the other’s hair. “You came.”

Kozume fidgets self-consciously. “It’s not that big of a deal…”

“You should have told me, I wouldn’t have gone to the party then,” Kuroo says, brushing the back of his hand against Kozume’s cheek. “You’re so cold too, dress thicker next time—”

“You stink of alcohol,” Kozume says suddenly, turning his head away from Kuroo. He wrinkles his nose and squirms so that Kuroo loosens his hold on him. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Not that much. The night is still young! Let’s go up drink more, I’ll even let you have some.”

“Can’t, it’s curfew soon.”

“So?” Kuroo laughs, letting Kozume go to look at him properly. “Just sleep over.”

Kozume looks bewildered, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “But mom is—”

“It’s fineee, I’ll just call auntie and let her know you’re with me,” Kuroo gives him a grin, and it’d look less sleazy if he wasn’t tipsy.

Kozume stammers out another excuse, but this Kuroo is more brazen than sober Kuroo. “Come on, it’s my birthday, and I haven’t seen you in two weeks…I miss you, Kenma.”

That is enough to silence Kozume, who is now gaping at Kuroo. Kuroo takes this chance to tug Kozume by the arm up the staircase, and Kozume, he really has no other choice but to follow the taller man. He doesn’t seem to have recovered yet from Kuroo’s sudden admission.

Sato, Oikawa and Iwaizumi follow them. Oikawa sways, so Iwaizumi has to hand over their bags of loot to Sato as he half-carries, half-drags Oikawa up the stairs to their room.

“I thought the boyfriend was that Karasuno four-eyes?” Iwaizumi mutters. In front of them, Kuroo is talking up a storm as he guides Kozume by the shoulder, completely invading the latter’s private space.

“He is! Pudding-kun and Kuro-chan are childhood friends, remember?” Oikawa says, a little too loud for comfort considering the subject of the conversation is just a few meters ahead. 

“Ah,” Iwaizumi says, as if that explained everything. If he took himself and Oikawa as an example, then of course it would. “Hey, stop leaning on me or we’ll both fall.”

“But Iwa-chan is so strong. We won’t fall,” Oikawa croons, pressing his cheek against Iwaizumi’s and batting his eyelashes. Sato really can’t tell if he’s just teasing, or if it’s the influence making him loose-lipped. “You won’t let me fall.”

Iwaizumi’s swallows. It seems alcohol has dulled his violent tendencies towards Oikawa, because he doesn’t rebuke. He lets Oikawa cling to him like an overgrown sloth without complaint.

His three friends are already halfway to Drunkland, and they haven’t even _started._

They pile into Room 313 in a heap of people. Iwaizumi almost drops Oikawa onto the floor taking off their shoes and outerwear, and Kuroo almost trips over his present from Kozume, which was sitting innocently by the shoe rack.

“Hey, what’s this?”

“It’s my present. I thought I should give it to you today…” The rest of Kozume’s sentence is drowned by Kuroo’s excited ripping of the wrapping paper, like a child on a Christmas morning.

“Ooh, shoes from Nike—”

Sato gets to unpacking the alcohol they managed to obtain. But looking at Oikawa trying and failing to walk straight without Iwaizumi’s support, and the red flush of Kuroo’s face and neck, he wonders if they should rain check.

“It’s the new running shoes you want.”

“Oh God…Kenma, you—” Kuroo swallows, and when he speaks it comes out heartfelt and sincere. “You didn’t have to, really. I was already happy that you came today. This…how much did this cost? Please tell me you split this with someone.”

“It’s rude to ask, you know. Don’t worry, I didn’t rob a bank for your sake,” Kozume says. A small smile makes its way into his face. He pushes the box towards Kuroo. “Just enjoy it.”

Kuroo lets out a high pitched whine, and for one second it looks like he’s going to cry. But he looks up, and the pure joy radiating from him could grow flowers in concrete and create rainbows in thunderstorms. It’s blinding, but Sato can’t seem to look away.

“Thank you so much, Kenma.”

Kuroo should smile like this more often.

Kozume’s face is so red, it gives drunk Kuroo a run for his money, and Sato suspects it has less to do with the cold this time. “N-no problem.”

“Alright, let me go put this away and we can get started. Oikawa! We got everything, right?”

Oikawa is already uncapping the large bottle of Absolut vodka. “Of course. You better be grateful, I had to owe Kimura-senpai so many favours for this!”

“You mean _we_ ,” Iwaizumi retorts from his spot on the floor. He had taken the liberty to unpack the ice into an empty garbage can into a makeshift ice bucket that now holds six cans of beer.

“You don’t count, everyone knows you’re his favorite kouhai,” Oikawa sniffs. To Sato’s amazement, he pours himself a shot of vodka and downs it with little hesitation.

“Yo chill, don’t go getting hammered before me!” Kuroo says, slamming his bedroom door a little harder than necessary. “Also what the hell is this music?”

“My playlist is bomb and you know it.”

After some bickering and a near-explosion with the soft drinks, they begin the celebration proper with a toast of vodka shot each, excluding Kozume. Kuroo does get him to try some with a mixer so he isn’t left out.

Sato knows from experience that Kuroo and Oikawa can drink a lot, and certainly more than him. The two experiment with different combinations of mixers, hard liquor and fruit they have in their flat, pretending to be sophisticated wine taste-testers. Then, Kuroo poured his vodka and tomato juice into a cup and sipped it with his pinkie out, and everyone just lost it.

With the pop music blaring from their portable speakers and the rambunctious laughters from five tipsy people, they almost miss the vibration of Kuroo’s phone.

“Hey Kuroo, your phone.”

“Oh, thanks! Who is it?”

Iwaizumi tosses the phone to Kuroo with a grin. “Your boyfriend.”

Oikawa giggles, giving Kuroo a playful shove. “Are we finally going to meet Blondie-kun? When is he coming, anyway, it’s getting late.”

“I’d also like to see what 190cm looks like in real life,” Sato chimes in.

However, Kuroo locks his phone, effectively silencing the call and also everyone else. He puts the phone aside on the floor. “Change of plans: he’s not coming. Sorry I forgot to tell you guys.”

Four pairs of eyes blink owlishly at him.

The current song ends with a flourish of drums, and a momentary, awkward silence descends upon them.

“Kuro. Did something—”

“Nothing much. He’s busy so he couldn’t make it, and we just got a little short with each other, that’s all.”

Kozume hesitates. He looks at Oikawa in question, but the latter looks as confused as he is.

Seeing his friend’s worry, Kuroo attempts a smile, bringing both his hands to smush Kozume’s rosy cheeks, kneading them as if they were dough. This earns a squeak from Kozume as he pushes Kuroo’s hands away. 

“You sure you okay?” This time it’s Oikawa who asks.

“It’s really okay, I’ve cooled down now. I’ll call to apologize tomorrow; wouldn’t be right to do it drunk.”

“Okay then,” Oikawa replies in a chirpy voice. “Let me make you something strong to commiserate. Iwa-chan change the music, we gotta bring back the mood!”

As the night carries on—as more alcohol is drunk— everyone starts losing their mental inhibitions and rational thought, Kuroo and Oikawa more so than everyone else, thanks to their high alcohol content concoctions. It just so happens that the both of them are excitable drunks too:

“Look, I can lick my elbow!” Oikawa exclaims, unprompted.

Of course, Kuroo tries to copy him, but fails. He sullenly wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth. “No fair, it’s because you have a long neck!”

“Your neck is long too though. I can lick my toe too, wanna see?”

“That’s disgusting, don’t do that.” Iwaizumi says firmly, stopping Oikawa from pulling off his socks. “You’ll give yourself an oral infection.”

“My feet are _clean!_ ”

“Oi, can you also suck your own dick?” Kuroo asks, sounding half-serious. “A self-blowjob would be pretty cool, I’d reckon.”

“So, a self-job?”

“A self-job.”

Oikawa and Kuroo snigger, looking so proud of themselves that Sato hasn’t the heart to tell them that someone had already coined a name for such an action. He bets they won’t remember it the next morning anyway.

“DON’T ACTUALLY TRY IT!” Iwaizumi yells, almost spilling his drink in his haste to stop Oikawa from breaking his back trying to reach his penis with his mouth.

“Relax, Iwa-chan! I wasn’t actually going to—Ha! I went lower than Kuro-chan!”

Oikawa laughs openly at Kuroo, who is sitting with his legs spread apart, struggling to get his head to go lower than his chest. “Damn, I actually can’t suck my own dick.”

“Pretty sure you have to be a contortionist to be able to do that. Even me with my flexibility can’t do it.”

“Well, whatever. Why suck your own dick when you have someone else to do it—”

A chuckle draws Sato’s attention to Kozume, who has his phone out and blatantly recording the duo’s antics.

“Were you recording this entire time?”

Kozume lowers his phone, and says, in a voice that sends shivers down Sato’s spine, “ _for blackmail.”_

Drunk Kozume is scary Kozume, Sato concludes.

He leaves Kozume to himself in favour of opening another can of beer. Actually, he might need something stronger to cleanse the mental image of his roommates performing autofellatio from his brain. With that line of thought, he puts the beer back down and reaches for the Bacardi.

In the time he takes to mix the rum and pineapple juice together, Oikawa and Kuroo have already moved on to something else, giggling between the two of them.

“Let’s play spin the bottle! Whoever it points to has to kiss me.”

“ _No,”_ Sato, Iwaizumi and Kozume say in unison. Sato didn’t think it could get worse than ‘self-jobs’, but he was wrong. While Sato has nothing against ‘spin the bottle’ itself, it’s the current company that makes this game _unsuitable_ in this context.

“Bad, _bad_ idea.” Kozume mutters, eyeing Kuroo.

Iwaizumi seems to agree with him, probably for the same reason. “Are you both twelve? What possessed you to come up with this?” Iwaizumi shouts, punching Oikawa on the shoulder.

“But Iwa-chan, don’t you want to kiss me?” Oikawa puckers his lips, leaning into a flustered Iwaizumi.

“Yeah _Iwa-chan_ , don’t you want to kiss this pretty face?” Kuroo parrots, putting his hand under Oikawa’s chin as if offering him up to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi presses his palm against Oikawa’s face to push him away. “I’d rather kiss a dead fish.”

Oikawa frowns, and he actually looks disappointed. When a beat goes by without a witty comeback, worry creases Iwaizumi’s brow.

“Rip, dude,” Kuroo says unhelpfully.

Oikawa opens his mouth to say something, but falters when Iwaizumi stands up. He’s slightly off-kilter, but manages to maintain his balance.

“Iwa-chan, don’t go. I was just kidding…”

Sato has a feeling he wasn’t.

“I know, I’m just taking a phone call,” Iwaizumi says in a gentler tone, bending down to ruffle Oikawa’s hair. “Be right back.”

Oikawa could only stare at Iwaizumi’s back as the latter dips into his room for privacy. The hurt and disappointment is raw and intense in his inebriated state, with a mix of longing.

If Sato could put a name to it, it would be heartbreak.

“Hey, uh. I think he only said that because he thinks you’re joking, don’t take it to heart,” Kuroo finally says as Oikawa downs a shot with feeling.

“You don’t know that.” His lips wobble as he speaks. This unguarded sadness is such a contrast to Oikawa’s usual put-together self, showing how affected he really is by his ‘one-sided’ crush on Iwaizumi.

“Oikawa—”

Oikawa swallows two more shots of vodka as easily as if they were water. He hiccups. “Out of all the people I fall in love with, why is it with someone I can’t have?”

Sato’s heart sinks at those words; at this point, there’s no use in pretending they don’t know about it. Judging from Kozume’s pained expression, he likely figured it out as well.

_“_ I think Kuroo’s right. If you tell to him properly, I’m sure he’ll give you a proper answer back,” Sato tries. “Maybe do it sober, though.”

“Yup. You should listen to us, ‘cus we’re both in a relationship, and that gives us the right to give relationship advice,” Kuroo says sagely, and while the line of reasoning doesn’t make sense to Sato, since it gets Oikawa to crack a smile; so be it.

“Y’know, in high school I was the one giving out relationship advice,” Oikawa slurs, pouring himself yet another glass of vodka.

The door to Oikawa’s room opens. Oikawa drops his glass with a clatter, the clear liquid spilling over his pants. Everyone is silent, as if it was premeditated.

“…Did something happen?”

“No, nothing, I…uh.” Kuroo seems at a loss.

“Kuro accidentally poked him in the eye,” Kozume says calmly.

“Yeah, that. Oops?”

Oikawa nods, holding a hand up to his face as if to shield himself. “Just an accident.”

Iwaizumi barks out a laugh, plopping back down next to Oikawa. “I swear you both are like children when you’re drunk. How is it? Let me see—”

“I’m fine, I— toilet.” Before Iwaizumi can so much as touch him, Oikawa leaps up and bolts to the bathroom, accidentally kicking the table leg on his way. Thankfully, nothing topples over.

Sato would have laughed, but his sympathy for Oikawa’s predicament overrules the mirth that bubbles as Oikawa curses, but half-limps, half-staggers to his destination without any collateral damage.

Iwaizumi makes to go after him, but Kuroo yanks him right back down. “Stop worrying so much _Iwa-chan_. Here, drink some more.” He shoves a brown-colored drink into Iwaizumi’s hand. “This is a Long Island, I had it at the union once, and it was good, though we don’t have any orange liquid thingy but I think this still tastes decent…”

“Oh yeah, Kuroo. You might want to check your phone,” Iwaizumi says, interrupting Kuroo’s attempts at playing bartender.

“Huh, why?”

Iwaizumi levels him a stare. “Your _boyfriend_ ,” he punctuates, “had to call _me_ through our mutual acquaintance to ask where your dorm is, because you can’t be bothered to answer your phone.”

Tsukishima did?

Kuroo stares back at him, wide-eyed, and when Iwaizumi’s words register in his mind he immediately scrambles for his phone, finding it under some empty wrappers and packets.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to…I swear I didn’t hear it after the first time…Wait. You said he asked where our dorm is?”

“Yes he did. He alighted at the bus station just now. He should be here soon, so whatever it is you two were fighting about, now’s the time to talk it out.”

“We weren’t fighting…” Sato sips his drink and watches Kuroo mumble under his breath, looking a mix of guilty, happy and anxious. Next to him, Kozume takes out his phone and taps a message to someone.

“Yaku asked me to tell you: ‘you better man up or I’ll sock you’,” Kozume says in a deadpan. “You should answer his texts.”

Kuroo grimaces. “Don’t worry, Bokuto’s already threatening to skin my balls the next time we meet.”

“Who’s skinning Kuro-chan’s balls?” Oikawa’s voice floats by, almost dream-like, and of course he chooses now to rejoin them. If his eyes are slightly puffy and his voice lackluster, no one points it out. He plops down next to Kuroo despite there being an empty space beside Iwaizumi.

“Long story short, Tsukki’s coming after all. Sorry you had to do that, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo says sheepishly. “I really didn’t think he was going to come. He’s usually not one for spontaneous stuff.”

With everyone back, they do another toast to mark the start of a brand new day, but everyone can tell that the energy isn’t as high as it was before. Somewhere in between that back-to-back drama, Oikawa’s playlist had ended, and they had been drinking in silence for some time before someone notices. But even with the music back, blaring as loud as ever, the initial excitement is long gone.

Kozume puts down his mocktail. “I’ll just…go home. It’s not that late anyway.”

“No, don’t. It’s dangerous,” Kuroo says firmly. “Stay the night. I’ll lend you my clothes and stuff. I even have a spare blanket.”

“But Tsukishima—never mind. Just lend me something to change into, and I’ll go catch the last train.”

“Kenma, I am _not_ letting you walk around uni alone at twelve in the morning. I know you’ll have to sleep on the sofa, and I’m sorry, I didn’t know Tsukki was coming or I wouldn’t have offered. But please? You can leave at four if you’re still awake by then.”

Sato is not surprised to find out Kuroo and Kozume were planning on sharing Kuroo’s bed; if Kuroo can offer that to Akaashi, it makes sense that Kozume gets the same treatment. But now, having Kuroo explicitly say that Kozume is relegated to the sofa now that Tsukishima would be here sends a pang of sympathy coursing through Sato’s chest.

However, there’s no arguing with Kuroo when he gets like this, and Kozume knows it. “…Fine.”

Kuroo lets out a relieved smile. He makes to ruffle Kozume’s hair, but either he’s too drunk to coordinate his limbs, or Kozume purposely ducks out of the way, because he misses. He settles for a heavy pat on the shoulder instead.

Kozume tenses, but Kuroo doesn’t notice. In fact, Kuroo eyes seem to have glazed over. 

“You know what,” Sato finds himself saying. “I’m tired. I think we should call it a day?” With the two mood makers out of commission, it’s safe to say the the party is over. Not to mention they have to clean the living area to make it habitable for Kozume as well.

“Good idea,” Iwaizumi agrees. He pushes himself up, as well as a floppy Oikawa, who looks seconds away from just falling asleep on the floor. “I’ll dump this idiot in bed, then come I’ll help clean up.”

With combined help from the still-functioning members, they throw out all the trash, clean up the spills, and set out a pillow and blanket for Kozume on the sofa.

Then, their unexpected visitor arrives.

The knock comes, and since Sato is the closest, he ends up answering the door.

Tsukishima Kei is not what Sato expected. Although he has seen pictures, courtesy of Kuroo, nothing prepares him for a face-to-face (or rather, face-to-chest) with 190cm of human.

He’s dressed in a way that can pass him for an adult—a thick white parka jacket over his pastel yellow turtleneck that compliments his blond hair, with jeans that run down his long, long legs—and that explains how he’s able to bypass the U18 curfew. Honey-brown eyes assess him through black, rectangular frames, and while Sato is mesmerized, he also feels like he’s being psychoanalyzed.

While Tsukishima isn’t Oikawa-pretty, Sato could admit he’s quite good-looking. (At this point, all his confidence regarding his looks has already been torn to shreds anyway)

“Tsukki.”

Tsukishima’s intense gaze leaves Sato to Kuroo, and Sato lets out a small exhale. Only then he remembers to be a good host, stepping aside to let his guest inside. Tsukishima gives him a polite nod.

“Not that it isn’t good to see you,” Kuroo says, his voice tight. “Can you go wait in my room there for a bit? We still have to clean up.”

Neither of them makes a move to greet the other like a boyfriend normally would, showing that there is still some discord between them despite what Kuroo claims.

Tsukishima gives the room a cursory glance. “Right. Sorry for the intrusion.” He’s surprisingly nonchalant for a high schooler who just walked into a flat full of drunk college students. He pads across the room with the grace of a feline and quietly lets himself into Kuroo’s room. On his way, he makes eye contact with Kozume, and Sato swears he sees an ineffable emotion flit through them, ever so slightly breaking through his mask of calm.

Kozume maintains it, his expression neutral. It’s hard to tell what either of them are thinking.

Sato wonders just when this simple birthday celebration had spiral into a plot from a soap opera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kenma is a good citizen. Tsukishima doesn’t care xd


	10. 501 not implemented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my God, Oikawa! We need to talk about last night!” Kuroo all but screams, and Sato very nearly drops the sizzling hot pan onto his feet.
> 
> At the end of his tether, Sato slams the pan onto the stove, turns around to give them both a piece of his mind, but he’s beaten to it by Kuroo, who is comically pointing at Oikawa with a Cheshire grin stretched wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 501 not implemented: The server either does not recognize the request method, or it lacks the ability to fulfill the request. Usually this implies future availability

  
Sato wakes up in the middle of the night. It takes some time for him to become reoriented with his surroundings and to figure out why he was roused in the first place.

He fumbles around for his phone, his eyes squinting in reflex when he unlocks it to see the time. Two-thirty in the morning.

He remembers clinking glasses with his friends in a toast past midnight, then Tsukishima’s appearance just after that, and then slumping into bed at one-something after a hasty cleanup and lazy ‘goodnights’.

So why is he awake, when he is bone tired from the day’s events and his head is still spinning from the residue alcohol?

He gets his answer with a particular loud ‘thump’ against his headboard. Since it isn’t him, it can only mean that it’s coming from the other side of the wall— Kuroo’s room.

Sato has a bad feeling about this.

Another sound comes from Kuroo’s room, sounding suspiciously like someone accidentally bumped their head particularly hard.

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” says someone, either Kuroo or Tsukishima. Sato can’t tell since it’s too muffled.

Now that Sato is more alert, he also hears—in addition to the knocks against the wall— the rattling of bed in a painfully familiar rhythm. 

“I’m so close— _ah—_ you’re getting tighter.”

“ _Tetsurou!”_

Then there was a loud, drawn-out groan.

Sato is a healthy nineteen-year-old male, and while he’s never engaged in sexual intercourse with a male, he knows that it goes the same way as heterosexual sex, but with two dicks instead.

There’s no mistaking the sounds coming from Kuroo’s room; no stupid misunderstandings this time for sure.

“This _cannot_ be happening to me,” Sato says, aloud, as if that would magically make the situation better. He curses the fact that he’s a light sleeper; he could have gone without knowing what Kuroo’s orgasmic groan sounded like, thank you very much.

“Hot damn, it’s hot when you say my name.”

“Guess you better enjoy it while you can then, _Kuroo-san,_ ” comes Tsukishima’s snarky reply, followed by Kuroo’s laughter.

Their conversation dwindles down to unintelligible murmurs, and then there’s more rattling.

There were no traces of hostility or tension that came with Tsukishima’s arrival a few hours ago. Suffice to say, Kuroo and Tsukishima has made up, and is channeling their leftover energy into their _bedroom_ _activities_.

In actuality, they probably aren’t really even loud; it’s due to Sato’s unfortunate proximity to Kuroo’s bed that he’s privy to their makeup-slash-birthday sex.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised; Kuroo hasn’t seen his boyfriend since the the start of the semester after all. Sato tells himself that it’s just unfortunate, and it’s more circumstantial fault than any one person’s. He makes a mental reminder to move his bed further from the wall first thing in the morning.

Now all there’s left to do is go back to sleep, and avoid eye contact with Kuroo and Tsukishima for maybe the entire weekend.

But life is never that easy in room 313.

Sato does not go back to sleep. In fact, his eyelids snap open when a mewl pierces through his ears. Are they going for round two?

The continuous rattling told him that, yes, they are.

Sato groans, pushing himself off the bed. Though there’s nothing to be done about the vibrations against the wall, he should at least muffle the noises if he were to get any sleep; he heads to his desk to find his AirPods. He blindly gropes around for them in the dark, not wanting to turn the light on and sear his retinas.

He finds the small case in his bag, and thank heavens there’s still battery left.

“ _Ah_ —just like that!” It’s raw and needy, and Sato’s fingers shake as he tears the buds out of the charging case in his haste. “Yes yes—”

“Shh! You’re too loud,” a gruff voice sounds. Sato’s frazzled brain only processes then that this pair of voices came from the _other side_ of the room, from the wall against his desk.

“Don’t stop please feels so good oh God I—” More praises of the various deities spill out, garbled but no lower in volume. Now _this_ voice definitely doesn’t sound like Kuroo or Tsukishima. Rather, it sounds like…

“H-Hajime—I love you. I love you so so—”

A scream rips through Oikawa’s throat unrestrained, breaking off at the end with a choked, wanton moan. It’s audible even with some mindless rock music blasting into his ears, but Sato is too busy feeling sorry for himself to marvel at the man’s lung capacity.

Oikawa is _loud,_ even during sex _._ He wouldn’t even be surprised if the other pair of lovers hears it across their two walls and the pocket of air that is Sato’s room. If Sato wanted gay porn, he would have to look no further than his roommate and his Pornhub premium-quality drunken sex with his childhood friend. Heck, if he was into voyeurism, he might as well drill a peephole into Oikawa’s room.

Sato bids goodbye to the rest of his sanity. He knows what his roommates sound like during sex; he has heard them at the height of pleasure, at their most intimate and vulnerable. Last night’s alcohol threatens to make its way back up his throat.

Was it too much to ask for a good night’s sleep?

He rips out his AirPods in frustration. He looks out his window and briefly, for a horrifying, dark moment, contemplates jumping out from the third floor. The remnants of his rationality decides that, no, he’d rather not be disabled for the rest of his life.

Sato lets out a sigh. He should go out to the living area at least; hopefully Kozume is still asleep and blissfully unaware, and Sato might be able to curl up on the floor—

“Tooru, fuck, you make me so crazy—”

If all it took was alcohol for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to crack, Sato might have suggested this weeks ago. He just wishes they wouldn’t be so loud.

Sato grabs his phone and his pillow, and goes out of his room.

The living area is dark, but from the specks of light from the window overlying the streets, Sato can make out the silhouettes of furniture. A beam of light catches his attention, and he finds that Kozume is, in fact, not asleep.

“Kozume-san?”

There’s the sound of rustling, and Kozume shines his phone at Sato, causing him to flinch with the sudden onslaught of brightness. He rubs his eyes, waiting for his retinas adjust to the light.

“Sorry.” Kozume quickly lowers his phone.

“It’s fine. You couldn’t sleep, too?” He treads over to the sofa, where Kozume is sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, tapping away on his phone.

In the background, bed springs creak, following by muffled moans, dashing Sato’s hopes of sleeping in the living area. Seriously, for all the good these walls are in blocking out noise, they may as well be made of paper.

Kozume bends over to rummage into his bag, his movements so subtle it startles Sato when he hears it. Sato sits on the other end of the couch, toying with his pillowcase. What should he do now?

“So good, Hajime. You’re doing so good _.”_

“Shut up! Hurry up and— _”_

Sato can’t make out Kozume’s face in the darkness, but he doesn’t need to, for Kozume lets out a frustrated noise, zipping up his bag with more force than required.

What a mood _,_ Sato thinks.

_“_ Sato-san. I’m going to my friend’s house for the night,” Kozume murmurs, only just audible over the lewd accompaniment echoing faintly in the air.

“That’s a good idea.” Sato opens up his phone, scrolling through his contact list for anyone who’ll let him leech for the night. “How are you getting there? Taxi?”

Kozume clears his throat. “…Yeah.”

“You sound like you’re catching a cold. I’ll lend you my jacket before you leave,” Sato says, and heads back to his room. He opens up his wardrobe and feels around for the warmest winter clothing he owns.

“ _Ohh_ —you’re amazing,” Kuroo lets out a moan, low and guttural, and that’s definitely his sex voice. “Holy Jesus on a stick, Kei, I love it when you do that—”

Sato loudly shuts his wardrobe and walks out.

When he re-enters the living area, the first thing he hears is a harsh intake of breath. It’s choked and wet, and definitely doesn’t sound pleasured. 

“Kozume-san?”

He doesn’t get a reply, but his eyes have started to adjust to the dark, he can still make out Kozume’s outline on the sofa.

“Here, wear this as another layer under your coat,” Sato hands him a thick pullover. “When is your taxi coming? I’ll walk you down in case security gets suspicious.”

The other nods and slips on the pullover.

The taxi wouldn’t take long to arrive, so the pair shuffle wordlessly out of the flat; good timing too, because if Sato has to hear how amazing Tsukishima is _one more time…_

_“_ Kozume-san…are you okay?” He asks, when the younger has been still for too long.

Kozume nods. He looks down to the floor, his body rigid and hands shoved into his pockets, as he half-heartedly toes on his shoes. He looks smaller than ever, bunched up under many layers, but it’s also the convex curvature of his back and the hesitancy in his steps that ignites the protectiveness within Sato.

“Are you really okay?” It doesn’t hurt to make sure.

Kozume exhales shakily, then answers, his voice nasal, “I’m fine, thank you.” But when Sato pushes their front door open, the harsh lights streaming into the room and giving him a clearer view of the younger’s face, he’s anything but.

Kozume is normally impassive, so now that he’s allowing the misery to sit so openly on his face, it’s clear that something is wrong. If he’s been silently crying the entire time, Sato realizes in hindsight, it’s no wonder he sounded weird; he probably didn’t expect that Sato would come out to the living area.

Sato opens the door for him, and he ducks his head as he moves past Sato.

So when they trudge down the stairs to the front of the building at an excruciatingly slow pace, Sato is as patient as he can be, making sure to be just a step ahead of Kozume to give him some semblance of privacy.

“ _I’m in love with Kuro_.”

It’s whispered so softly that its tail end is carried away by the wind. For a moment, Sato thinks it’s his mind playing tricks on him, given its non-sequitur.

Sato doesn’t know what brought about this sudden confession. It might have stemmed from Kozume’s current vulnerability, or the tranquility of the night, with the mellow, ivory moonlight upon them, or that he just happened to be there at Kozume’s breaking point. He debates pretending not to hear it—he wasn’t even sure if it was meant for him—but he’d feel guilty afterwards if he did that.

So he’s thinking about what to say that could make this situation even a little better, when Kozume continues, his voice thick and raspy, “since middle school. But maybe…it’s time to move on.”

Sato isn’t surprised about Kozume liking Kuroo as much as its duration. “That’s a long time,” he says lamely. He really wants to help, but he’s not eloquent enough for this.

They push open the emergency exit with a creak, pass the sleeping security guard, and head out front to wait for the taxi, and it’s then Sato finally manages to gather his thoughts.

“Kuroo said you’ve never expressed interest in anyone before.” He remembers that snippet from a couple of weeks ago, back when he incorrectly thought Kuroo and Kozume were dating. “Was that—you’ve never told him, right?”

They’re sit side by side, the icy bench freezing their asses off and the night breeze fanning against their faces. Sato turns slightly to get a glimpse of Kozume’s face. He seems to have recovered on their walk down, his face back into a blank slate, framed by his two-toned hair.

Kozume exhales, and the air around him fogs. “No reason to.”

“You should.” It slips out of Sato before his brain-to-mouth filter could stop it. “Tell him, I mean.”

A dubious look. “Why?”

Why, indeed? Sato doesn’t know how to answer that, since Sato agrees that him telling his very much taken friend that he likes him would theoretically do more harm than good.

“Even if he doesn’t return your feelings, it’d be nice for you to get it off your chest? I also think…Kuroo might appreciate that you told him; you two _are_ close friends…” Sato hedges, because he really doesn’t know if Kuroo would. An educated guess never hurt anyone though.

“Only that,” Kozume replies, fiddling with his phone. “Not in the way Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san are. We’re just...that. Nothing more.”

Kuroo and Kozume’s dynamics are more subtle than Oikawa’s playful jibes and Iwaizumi’s aggressive, almost tsundere-like, care. Objectively, Sato doesn’t think it makes it any lesser than Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s, and he really does think Kuroo and Kozume act as much a couple as them. But Kuroo has a boyfriend—whom he’s currently fucking into seventh heaven—and he wants to respect that.

“I guess it might be awkward for a while, but your and Kuroo’s friendship is strong, it can survive this.”

A car rumbles to a stop in front of their building. It’s Kozume’s taxi.

“I can’t…too risky. I’m okay with the way things are now.” Anyone can tell he’s not, but Sato ignores the blatant lie, because it’s really up to Kozume whether to confess.

Bag in hand, Kozume gives a small wave to Sato, which he returns.

“Be safe, Kozume-san.”

Kozume opens the rear door and puts his bag in. He pauses. “You can call me Kenma. ‘Kozume-san’ sounds like my dad.”

Sato nods, giving him another wave. The door shuts, and the taxi speeds off.

Before he goes back to the brothel that is room 313 right now, Sato decides to hop by the convenience store and buy himself a snack. If he’s going to be up half the night, he might as well not be hungry doing it.

But when he steps inside his flat, he’s pleasantly surprised to find it quiet. Not a single moan or movement within hearing range. He checks the time on his phone: half-past three. It’s about time the alcohol kicked in and knocked his horny roommates out.

He’s reclaiming his pillow from the sofa and so ready to end the day already when he spots a bunched-up cotton sweater on the seat. It’s the sweater Kuroo lent Kenma a few hours ago.

Sato feels a twinge of sympathy for Kenma; just how long has he been enduring this? And that Kuroo is none the wiser of his closest friend’s turmoil, even assuming that Kenma is aromantic, makes it even worse.

He leaves Kuroo’s sweater, folded, on the coffee table, and heads back into his room with his pillow.

*

Sato is awoken again a few hours later by the morning sunlight that streams into his windows. This time, he has no one but himself to blame for forgetting to close his curtains.

He pulls the curtains shut and tries to sleep again, to no avail. Once he’s up, he’s up.

Moody from the lack of sleep, Sato decides that he would treat himself to a homemade English breakfast, because if he can’t sleep well, he might as well eat well. He scrolls through social media for a while until he can muster the energy to get out of bed.

Out in the living area, he shivers when his feet makes contact with the icy floor as he walks to the fridge to survey his ingredients. Sato takes out a pack of bacon, some eggs, and tomatoes, then shuts the fridge.

“Sato, you’re up pretty early?” Somehow, Kuroo’s voice is a tad bit more annoying this morning. He’s stepping out of his room, half-naked and hair mussed, as he scratches his stomach. Sato notes with jaded eyes the number of love marks interspersed throughout his torso, and a particularly nasty one on his collarbone that’s definitely going to show for a few days.

“Yes, couldn’t sleep any more. Do you want breakfast?” Sato asks as he readies the stove.

“Ah, it’s okay, me and Tsukki have to leave soon.” The blond in question comes out of Kuroo’s room in a similar state of undress, carrying with him his toiletries and a change of clothes. “Bathroom’s here.”

“I’m not blind.”

Kuroo chuckles. “You never were a morning person.”

“I swear if I had known we were going to Disneyland…”

“Don’t be such an old man. Now, hurry up, we’re meeting them in two hours!” Kuroo chides, giving Tsukishima a slap on his ass.

Tsukishima gives him a half-hearted glare, but does as he’s told.

“Hey, where’s Kenma?”

At Kuroo’s prompt, Sato’s hand jerks to a standstill, last night’s events flashing through in his mind. “Um. He left.”

Kuroo brows furrow. “He didn’t tell me he was leaving…”

_Of course he didn’t,_ Sato finds himself thinking as he fries his bacon. “Try calling him?”

_“_ Hm, yeah, good idea…”

Kuroo disappears into his room to get his phone, and Sato is left with approximately ten more seconds of peace before his other roommate graces them with his presence.

“I smell food. Sato are you cooking?”

Sato grips the pan tightly, the irrational urge to fling it at Oikawa bubbling inside him, for the crime of sounding too happy. But Sato is a civilized human, he shall not inflict egregious bodily harm unto his fellow human beings.

“Oh wow, bacon and eggs? What’s the occasion, is it for Kuro-chan? Can I have some too?” Sato feels Oikawa hover behind him, and the good mood radiating from the him clears some of Sato’s irritation.

“Sure. Kuroo and Tsukishima aren’t eating, so it’s just you and me…” Sato is about to ask about Iwaizumi, but doesn’t get to, for Oikawa is yabbering on like he hasn’t talked in days.

“Right, right, they’re going to Disneyland, can they even ride some of the stuff there? I feel like they’d be too big—”

“You’re never too old for Disneyland!” Kuroo hollers.

“I never said anything ‘bout being old!”

His roommates sure are happy this morning, Sato thinks bitterly, scraping his fried bacon onto a plate. If only they knew what mental torture they put him through last night.

“Oh my God, Oikawa! We need to talk about last night!” Kuroo all but screams, and Sato very nearly drops the sizzling hot pan onto his feet _._

At the end of his tether, Sato slams the pan onto the stove, turns around to give them both a piece of his mind, but he’s beaten to it by Kuroo, who is comically pointing at Oikawa with a Cheshire grin stretched wide.

“You and Iwaizumi finally banged!” 

Oikawa’s face is bright with post-coital glow, his normally artfully styled hair sticking up reminiscent of Kuroo’s _._ He’s half-naked, his chest and abdomen in a similar state to Kuroo’s; marked with bruises of various sizes, and…were those _teeth marks?_

Sato would offer a ‘congratulations’, but he’s too busy murdering his roommates in his head to be even be remotely happy for Oikawa and his requited love. Maybe later, after he’s had a good nap.

Kuroo beams, going over to slap Oikawa on the shoulder. “It’s about time! Welcome to the non-singles club.”

But Oikawa only looks bewildered. “Wha-huh?”

“Oya? Don’t go shy on me, me and Tsukki heard you two fucking like rabbits. And _this_ ,” Kuroo pokes at Oikawa’s chest, where the bite mark is. “How was it? Was Iwaizumi rough?”

“Kuroo, you have no room to talk.” Sato says, but once again, his voice is drowned by Oikawa’s shriek.

“Wait wait wait what! How—what?” Oikawa looks up, eyes blown wide with panic—not the reaction Sato expected, or Kuroo, it seems.

“What to you mean ‘what’? That you and Iwaizumi probably woke the whole floor with your loud-ass moans?”

“No wait, I…” Oikawa looks down, frantically examining his body as if seeing it for the first time. “Kuro-chan…What—what happened last night?”

The grin on Kuroo’s face was immediately wiped off, replaced with concern. “Oikawa, you…”

The two look at each other in alarm. Then, Oikawa says, in a small voice,

_“I don’t remember anything.”_

Silence.

“Are you kidding me.”

“Why would I joke about this? Sato—” Oikawa turns to Sato, “do you know what happened? I don’t remember anything past Iwa-chan saying he’d rather kiss a dead fish—” Sato could only repeat what Kuroo said, because that’s the truth.

“Oikawa…This might sound weird, but you’ve fucked a guy before, right? Before Iwaizumi.”

“Huh, why?”

“Just humour me.”

Oikawa blinks, looking utterly lost, and so is Sato. “Yeah? But only like…two one-night stands?”

Sato shouldn’t be surprised that Oikawa has, but he still is.

“And Iwaizumi hasn’t, right?”

“I don’t know, he hasn’t even told me he likes guys until I did, and he hasn’t had any boyfriends or girlfriends before so I would assume he hasn’t!” Oikawa says hotly, spinning around to face Kuroo—his back to Sato—and now Sato understands why Kuroo asked.

Oikawa’s back is littered with pink scratches and crescent indents, most prominently clustered around his scapulae.

“Okay,” Kuroo continues calmly, “and right now your ass doesn’t hurt, right?”

“…No?”

Kuroo levels Oikawa a pointed stare, and it’s painfully clear to Sato what he’s getting at. But Oikawa doesn’t seem to understand, and while Sato would normally be content to observe, his patience is already wearing thin.

“Oikawa, _you_ fucked Iwaizumi last night.”

“Well said.” Kuroo mock-claps. “You drilled him good, my friend. Never thought he’d be loud in bed, but I guess anyone’s first time’s gonna be weird.”

“…So, you mean…”

“I mean, you took Iwaizumi’s ass virginity, or _virginity_ in general…” Kuroo says.

“…And you don’t remember a single moment of it,” Sato finishes.

Oikawa’s face goes pallid with horror.

“Fuck. Fuckfuckfuc—”

Sato sighs. He feels sorry for Iwaizumi, who more than likely remembers everything, since he didn’t seem to be as drunk as Oikawa or Kuroo last night; what a way to lose his virginity.

He looks at Oikawa, on the verge of a mental breakdown, and Kuroo who’s trying to comfort him, and wonders how the morning turned out this way.

“—he probably hates me now, what am I going to do, he wasn’t here when I woke up and I wasn’t even naked so how was I supposed to know? I don’t want him to think that I was just using him —”

“Dude, just tell him and apologize? Or hey, maybe he doesn’t remember it too…no wait, that makes it worse…”

“You’re so not helpful at all!”

Then, as if adding fuel to fire, Tsukishima emerges from the bathroom, fully-clothed. Upon seeing his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s roommate on the floor, both shirtless and in a half-hug, he raises an eyebrow and shoots them the most judgmental, apathetic stare Sato has ever seen on someone.

“Ara, is ‘ _Oikuro’_ finally back in action?”

“Tsukki, not a good time,” Kuroo sounds stern, and that’s enough for Tsukishima to back off.

“Oh. I’ll just…be in your room then.”

Sato scoops the freshly cooked omelette onto the plate of bacon and tops it off with some cherry tomatoes. He puts the plate on the counter. “Oikawa, you want breakfast?”

“No, thank you.” He supposes no one would have an appetite if they were in Oikawa’s situation. It’s a pity, really, that Oikawa finally gets what he wants, only to forget it all simply because it was done in a drunken haze.

“Actually, where _is_ Iwaizumi? Did he leave with Kenma?” Kuroo wonders aloud. “He’s definitely not the cum and run type though…”

“He’s meeting his friends,” Oikawa says miserably. “That’s why he didn’t drink much last night…”

Kuroo whistles. “How is he _walking_ right now? Guess you aren’t that—”

“Kuroo _,_ please _.”_

_“_ Shit, sorry.”

Oikawa sighs. “This sucks. You know, he didn’t even mention anything in his texts—”

“Um.” Three heads turn towards Tsukishima, who’s hovering above the duo awkwardly. “Sorry to interrupt, but Bokuto-san’s asking us if we want to stop by Tsukiji market for breakfast…”

“Oh. They’re there?” Kuroo asks.

“No, but Tsukiji’s on the way, so if we’re eating there, he suggested we meet there instead of the park.”

“I don’t think we’ll have time, we can just grab something from the convenience store—”

“Kuro-chan, you have a double date to go to!” Oikawa says cheerily. “Go get ready or you’ll be late.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Kuroo asks, but he does get up from the floor, casting Oikawa a worried look.

“Peachy, now shoo, don’t keep your boyfriend and friends waiting, birthday boy.” Oikawa himself stands up as well.

Kuroo gives him one last pat on the shoulder before going into the bathroom, and now there is Oikawa, Tsukishima and Sato left in the room, along with the heavy silence. Would it be rude if Sato retreated to his room right now? Tsukishima and Oikawa don’t seem to have bad blood, so it should be okay to leave them together.

But before Sato can make a move, Tsukishima does. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be in Kuroo’s room.”

“Hey, Blondie-kun—”

“It’s Tsukishima.”

“How’d you get together with Kuro-chan?”

Sato’s ears perk. While Kuroo has already told them the gist, he’s curious to hear prickly ice-king Tsukishima Kei’s side of the story. He carries his now lukewarm breakfast to the sofa and makes himself comfortable. Neither of them seem to mind that he’s still here.

“Didn’t know Grand King-sama is so curious about lil ‘ol me,” Tsukishima snarks, and Sato suspects that sarcasm is Tsukishima’s default tone. “Didn’t Kuroo tell you?”

“Grand King-sama?” Oikawa laughs, sounding as surprised as Sato is. “Is everyone in Karasuno calling me that? How did chibi-chan even come up with it?”

“You’re Kageyama’s mentor, if I recall? We call him ‘king’ whenever he gets pissy. Well, us second-years do, anyway.”

Oikawa makes a face. “Tobio-chan. That little…anyway, is it true that you confessed to Kuro-chan first?”

Tsukishima’s pale cheeks dust pink. “…Yes.”

“Wow, you sure have guts, Blondie-kun.”

“It’s Tsu—urgh, why do I bother. I…wouldn’t say I had guts, but rather outside help, and Akaashi-san gave me really good advice.”

“Oh, which is?”

“That there’s nothing to lose. He said that if I confess, I either get a boyfriend, or if he doesn’t like me back, I get closure and move on with life…but I’m guessing this doesn’t apply to your situation?” Sato doesn’t doubt that Tsukishima is up-to-date with the Oikawa and Iwaizumi situation, thanks to Kuroo.

“I can’t just ‘move on’ when Iwa-chan’s literally my closest and oldest friend…you’re lucky that you and Kuro-chan weren’t friends before.”

“I think your situation is better, no? You did just fuck him. Even though you don’t remember, your sex noises put a pornstar to shame, and Iwaizumi-san sounded like he was really getting it on too, so you’re not half-bad.”

Sato privately agrees with everything he said, even though he wouldn’t dare to voice that aloud.

Oikawa groans. “Is your mouth always potty, or did Kuro-chan influence you?”

“What do you think, _grand king-sama?”_ The way Tsukishima says it, the moniker is meant to be anything but respectful. It’s like he’s purposely riling Oikawa up. “Even _king-sama_ managed to confess to the object of his affections.”

“What.” Oikawa’s head snaps up so fast, it’s got to hurt. “Tobio-chan did?”

“Yes. Absolutely disgusting affair, but they got together in the end.”

“You’re saying that Tobio-chan, that socially inept child _,_ got ahead of the great Oikawa-san in the _romance_ department?”

Tsukishima tilts his head and leers in lieu of an answer, and that sets Oikawa off on a furious tangent, accompanied by Tsukishima’s laughter.

While he has no idea who ‘Tobio-chan’ is, ironically, Sato thinks as he watches Oikawa stomp into his room, that push from Tsukishima is what sober Oikawa needs to finally, _finally_ make a move on Iwaizumi. 

The next day, when Oikawa practically skips towards his roommates, lovesickness written all over his face and trailing unicorn vomit in his wake, it’s all Sato can do not to say ‘I told you so’. Kuroo has no reservations about that.

*

Omake 1: you sneeze when people are talking about you behind your back

Kuroo has just come down from one of his best orgasms in a while. Really, whatever article his boyfriend had read about the sex position they just did, Kuroo wants in on that too.

“Kei, you are amazing,” Kuroo says, probably for the tenth time that night, as he wipes the cum off Tsukishima’s stomach.

“I know,” the younger says smugly. He’s without his glasses tonight—a normal affair when they’re having sex—and it makes his honey-brown eyes take on an ethereal glow, especially under Kuroo’s dim lamp. He loves Tsukishima’s eyes.

“Hey, pass me more tiss—ah, ah-choo!” Kuroo manages to turn his face in time to avoid spraying his boyfriend’s face with saliva.

“You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, I’m—” Kuroo interrupts himself with two more sneezes.

“I wonder what Bokuto-san’s response would be if you tell him Disneyland’s cancelled,” Tsukishima says with a laugh.

“Shut up, I’m not sick, just dust I think.”

“Or, someone’s talking about you.”

“What?”

“You know, the belief that you sneeze when people are talking about you behind your back?”

It’s now Kuroo’s turn to laugh. “I highly doubt someone loves me enough to talk about me at,” he glances at his wall clock,“…three-fifteen in the morning. C’mon, let’s sleep, did you set an alarm?”

“Wait, let me check.” Tsukishima reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “I set it for eight—”

“ _Ah- ah!_ Hajime, you feel so good, I’m gonna _—”_ the faint but unmistakeable voice of Oikawa Tooru filters into the room.

Tsukishima groans. Never did he think he’ll be hearing one of his teams’ greatest ex-rivals in the throes of passion. “There goes Grand King-sama _again_. I thought you said they aren’t together?”

Kuroo shares Tsukishima’s annoyance, but it’s not without some mirth. “They weren’t a few hours ago. Figures it takes Oikawa becoming piss drunk to finally grow some balls.”

“Oh. Good for them I guess.” Tsukishima places his phone back on the table. “I’m turning off the lights.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

*

Omake 2: I love you and I really want you to know

Spurred on by Tsukishima’s words, Oikawa stomps into his room and scoops up his phone from his bed. With fumbling fingers he unlocks his phone and speed dials Iwaizumi.

Luckily, just before he can chicken out and hang up, Iwaizumi answers the phone. “Yo, you’re finally awa—”

“I love you! Iwa-chan I love you I love you I love you and I really want you to know.” Oikawa’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his face the colour of a ripe tomato.

Predictably, Iwaizumi is stunned into silence. Then, in a soft, bashful voice that has Oikawa’s heart expanding in his ribcage, Iwaizumi says, “I know…y-you said that last night.”

For the nth time, Oikawa curses his past self for drinking himself into oblivion. He wants to cry from how angry he is with himself. “Iwa-chan…”

“And I love you too, Shittykawa.”

There’s music in the background on Iwaizumi’s end—no doubt he’s still out with his friends—and Oikawa’s digestive system is about to stage a protest if he doesn’t get some sustenance in him soon; overall, it’s not the type of confession Oikawa imagined would happen in the one thousand and one scenarios he cooked in his head. But as long as he gets together with Iwaizumi in the end, Oikawa finds that he doesn’t really care how he got there.

In a department store in downtown Tokyo, with a hand cupped over his mouth to prevent his friends from overhearing, Iwaizumi mirrors Oikawa’s thoughts, and wonders why the hell they didn’t do this sooner.

“There’s something I need to tell you…” Oikawa continues, and Iwaizumi has to strain to hear him over the music blasting inside the electronics shop he’s currently in.

“Tell me when I get back, now’s not a good time.”

“Okay, promise you won’t get mad.”

Whatever it is, Iwaizumi doesn’t think it can possibly be any more shocking than Oikawa’s barrage of ‘I love you’s just now, or their unexpected but not unwelcome tryst last night. “I don’t think I have it in me to get mad at you, to be honest.” And it’s the truth.

Oikawa laughs. “Hope so. Talk to you later, then.”

“Yeah, see you.” Iwaizumi smiles, and he knows he must look like a lunatic now.

“I love you.” Oikawa cuts the call, leaving Iwaizumi with the call end tone and practically combusting on the spot.

“…Idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry Kenma I love you. Also RIP to the people in shared flats with thin walls, truly.
> 
> So finally the IwaOi bomb has exploded, or should I say OiIwa. KuroKen’s getting there, but in the meantime, here’s a carrot for those who like KuroTsuki.


	11. to kill a cockroach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bro, I didn’t know. How did it even get in? Do we stamp on it, no wait, I don’t want cockroach innards all over—”
> 
> “You can’t. It’s a flying cockroach,” Oikawa says solemnly. 
> 
> “Flying—” Kuroo is at a lost for words, the colour draining from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like story was getting a little too angsty for what was supposed to originally be a crack fic, so please enjoy!

**Civil proc test on mon send help (3)**

**Kuroo T.**

Hey is it ok if my friend comes in to use our shower for a bit?

He forgot to pay his bills so they cut his water and electricity

**Oikawa T.**

Lol sure

Is he gonna be okay?

**Kuroo T.**

Yeah he paid, so it’s coming back tomorrow

We gymed together so I offered him our shower

**Oikawa T.**

Oh ok

I’ll shower now then

When are you guys coming?

**Kuroo T.**

Like 20 mins?

**Oikawa T.**

Ok

*

Their weekend starts off relatively normally.

Sato is staring his iPad, AirPods plugged in, concentration at maximum, furiously rereading past lectures like the devil is at his heels; he is now paying the price of his laziness for the past week in being wholly unprepared for their civil procedure test on Monday.

So when a blood-curdling scream pierces straight through his music and into his cochlea, stimulating it down to its individual cells, Sato jerks violently, his knee slamming onto the underside of his desk.

Ears ringing and heart pulsing, Sato slowly gathers himself and takes off his AirPods, because what the hell just happened. Did a mass murderer somehow break into their flat?

“Sato!” Oikawa bangs at his door frantically.

“What.” Sato gets up to open his door. He finds Oikawa, half-naked in only a towel, rivulets of water cascading down his torso and his hair plastered to his face with residues of shampoo. The terror in his face clears some of Sato’s anger, replacing with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Cockroach.” Oikawa manages, pointing to the bathroom.

“Oh.” That’s why.

Sato doesn’t like cockroaches, to put it lightly, but he doesn’t hack out a lung like Oikawa did should he ever encounter one. Resigning himself to be the (reluctant) bug killer between the two of them, he asks, “do you have a shoe you can spare?”

Oikawa shakes his head in despair.

“Oh…then I guess we’ll have to use a plate—”

“No, you can’t…because it’s a _f-flying cockroach._ How do we get it to leave?”

That changes the narrative completely. Sato starts to understand why Oikawa reacted the way he did. “How did it even get in in the first place?”

“It wasn’t there when I went in. It probably flew in from the small window—” The small window adjourning their shower stall is usually left open for ventilation, and the bug apparently took that as an invitation to waltz right in. “I was so shocked when I saw something _brown_ buzz around my head and I just noped the heck out and oh, I left my glasses in there…”

Oikawa looks like he’s about to cry. Sato gives him a sympathetic look; that experience was horror movie material.

“Okay, we should calm down first, then we can think of ways to get rid of it.”

Oikawa sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then groans as his hand becomes slick with shampoo. “I’ll call Iwa-chan to help us, but first I’m going to go wash this off…”

His revision forgotten—this is a _dire emergency_ that cannot be ignored, for they only have one bathroom—Sato racks his brain for solutions. He could go to the convenience store and get insecticide, or maybe an electric flyswatter…

There are shouts coming from the corridor, followed by the ‘beep’ of their door unlocking.

“You’ll like them, they’re chill guys…” Kuroo trails off as he spots Oikawa, back arched and ass jutting out, with his head in the kitchen sink. “Oikawa. What are you doing?”

“What’s going on?”

Kuroo’s friend is an eccentric man, with his outlandish salt-and-pepper hair and an even more outlandish personality. He could give bodybuilders a run for their money with those thick, muscled arms and broad shoulders; and his glutes—they’re… _well-endowed,_ prominent even through his loose-fitting track pants _._ Kuroo looks lean compared to him, and Sato, he’s practically a chopstick.

“Oh hey! I’m Bokuto Koutarou,” Bokuto spots Sato, giving him a cheery smile that lights up all the way to his eyes. It’s infectious, and Sato immediately finds himself at ease, returning him a smile of his own.

Kuroo shucks off his parka and tosses it on the sofa. “This is Sato Yuma, and that guy,” he points to Oikawa, “is Oikawa Tooru...someone explain why he looks like he’s about to shower in the kitchen?”

“Uh. You see, there’s a slight problem. There’s a cockroach in the bathroom, hence, Oikawa now,” Sato states, as if displaying an exotic animal on safari.

“…Are you serious?”

“Why else would I be washing my hair in the kitchen, Kuro-chan?” Oikawa snarks, sauntering over to them. He sweeps his wet hair to the back of his head, hazel eyes narrowing to compensate for his lack of a visual aid. Really, _how_ is he still looking good like that? “The bathroom’s out of commission until one of us gets rid of it.”

“Kuroo!” Bokuto shouts, pointing an accusing finger at him, “you brought me—”

“Bro, I didn’t know. How did it even get in? Do we stamp on it, no wait, I don’t want cockroach innards all over—”

“You can’t. It’s a _flying_ cockroach,” Oikawa says solemnly.

“ _Flying—”_ Kuroo is at a lost for words, colour draining from his face.

Bokuto lets out the longest ‘eww’ Sato has ever heard.

Sato explains the situation in detail to Kuroo and Bokuto as Oikawa goes into his room to put on some clothes. He suggests they go buy bugspray from the convenience store.

“Bugspray? I don’t think that works on the flying ones, since they can just, you know, fly away?” Bokuto says, and while it sounds simple, it does make sense.

“Oh, oh! I have an idea,” Kuroo says, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint. “We can make boric acid!”

“Bro, what.”

“Boric acid, or Hydrogen borate: what you get when you mix borax in with an inorganic acid, like hydrochloride acid and stuff, and then you get a drying agent and that dehydrates them from the inside out,” Kuroo cackles madly to himself.

“Borax?” Sato is pretty sure they didn’t learn this in high school.

“Sodium Tetraborate Decahydrate?”

Bokuto blinks at Kuroo owlishly. “…Can you speak Japanese?”

“It’s a chemical used as a cleaning product to remove stains.”

“Oh. If you wanted to burn their insides, you could have said that from the start, spare us the mumbo jumbo chem shit.”

Kuroo laughs sheepishly. “Sorry. It works for my house, and it’s better than insect spray ‘cus the critters don’t even know they’re dying, and by the time they do...”

Bokuto grins. “ _Omae wa mou—”_

 _“Shindeiru!”_ Kuroo finishes with a flourish, and they guffaw like dying donkeys, clutching each other and slapping their thighs.

“As much as chemistry sounds _wonderful_ —” Sato makes sure to make his sarcasm clear. “It would take too long. We need it gone now so we can all shower or like, pee?”

Oikawa rejoins them in the living area, fully clothed and wearing his spare pair of glasses.

“Guys…” Oikawa begins, and Sato does not like that sad undertone. “Iwa-chan’ll only get here in _two hours._ ”

Sato feels his soul leaving his body. There goes their only ray of hope.

“What do we do now? Any ideas?” Oikawa asks. As if on cue, all three heads turn to Kuroo, the most dependable person between the four of them.

“ _Me_?” Kuroo says incredulously. “No way, I usually just ignore it until it leaves! Or until it dies from the boric acid!”

“But Kuro-chan, you cleared that ant colony last month!”

“Those were ants. This is a goddamn _cockroach_!”

“You pussy!”

“Says the person who called Akaashi over just to remove the lizard from your bedroom.”

“Argh! He wasn’t supposed to tell you that!”

Here are four grown men, huddling together in the living area and shouting at each other because they’re too scared of one small insect; Sato would laugh if he wasn’t grossed out by cockroaches himself.

“Okay, I have an idea,” Oikawa says. “We could use the vacuum cleaner.” 

“Vacuum cleaner?” Sato could practically see the question marks floating over Bokuto’s head.

“I’ll go get it,” Sato replies. “But what are we going to do with it?”

“Oya? Don’t tell me...”

Oikawa smiles coldly, his teeth bared. “We suck that critter in and make a mincemeat out of it. Those things deserve to burn in the depths of hell.”

Shivers run down Sato’s spine. “Um. Can it even fit through the vacuum cleaner?”

“We disconnect the nozzle, it can definitely fit through the hose.”

With that, they bring in the vacuum cleaner from the communal supply cupboard. They get their weapon ready, crouched in front of the bathroom door. But no one makes a move.

“Open the door?” Oikawa tells Bokuto, who is the closest to the doorknob.

Bokuto takes a deep breath. He puts his hand on the doorknob. It rattles slightly from his shaking.

“I’m gonna do it. I’m really gonna do it,”

“On the count of three,” Kuroo says, “one…two…thr—”

“I’M SORRY!” Bokuto wails, his hand jerking away as if scalded. “I’m too scared! What it it flies out and goes into my ear? It’ll eat my brain!”

“Sorry bro, but you’ve nothing of substance in there except volleyball.”

“You traitor!”

Sato feels frustration build in the pit of his stomach; all that wind-up for nothing.

“Clearly, someone has to go in for this plan to work,” Oikawa says. “We should Rock Paper Scissors, since it’s fair. Those in favour of the motion say aye.”

“Aye. Loser opens the door, no chickening out this time,” Kuroo says neutrally, but the bob of his Adam’s Apple betrays his fear.

“This isn’t a parliamentary procedure.” Sato sighs. “But if we must.”

“We’re gonna leave it up to _luck_?”

“Bokuto, we don’t have time. You’re going out for dinner at eight, right? Obviously you don’t want to go like this?”

After some cajoling, Bokuto begrudgingly agrees, and so begins the most tension-filled round of Rock Paper Scissors in Sato’s life.

“Rock paper scissors!”

_Paper, Paper, Scissors, Rock._

“Rock paper Scissors!”

_Rock, Rock, Paper, Scissors._

_“_ Rock paper Scissors!”

_Scissors, scissors, scissors, paper._

“FUCK!” Oikawa looks at his hand as if it had personally betrayed him.

Sato lets out a huge sigh of relief. Beside him, Kuroo and Bokuto bump their chests in loud celebration.

“Are you ready, Oikawa-kun?” Kuroo asks, rather ominously, guiding Oikawa by the shoulder towards their bathroom. Bokuto hands him the hose of the vacuum cleaner with a too-bright smile on his face.

“I’ll push the door open, and then you go in and suck that thing right in, okay?”

Oikawa nods, his face grim with determination and fear. Knuckles clench around the hose. “Kuroo, if I die, I’ll give you all my milk bread.”

“I’m grateful for your donation, but you won’t, probably. Now, one…two…three!”

The door bursts open and Oikawa is pushed inside. The brunet activates the vacuum cleaner and madly waving it around . “Where is it, I can’t see it!”

“There! There!”

“WHERE?”

“ON THE TOWEL YOU BLIND BITCH!”

“I SEE IT!” With a high-pitched war-cry, Oikawa redirects the hose towards the insect.

But instead of having the desired effect, the cockroach manages to avoid the man-made typhoon and starts to fly in an erratic pattern, no doubt frightened from the loud noises and the strong suction from the vacuum cleaner.

Sato scoots clear out of the way of the chaos.

“OIKAWA THERE!”

Bokuto screams when the bug swoops by their faces, jerking back instinctively. Since he’s holding the body of the vacuum cleaner, he ends of pulling Oikawa back with him.

The sudden force backwards causes Oikawa to lose his balance. His hands automatically latch onto the closest thing to him—Kuroo—causing the two men to catapult to the floor with a flurry of shouts. A sharp cry sounds from Oikawa when Kuroo lands heavily on him.

“OH SHIT THE COCKROACH!” Bokuto’s warning comes just in time for Sato to duck away from the cockroach’s flight trajectory. This is a nightmare: they are two men down, and the enemy has encroached into their territory.

Bokuto screams again, louder than everyone else, his arms ballistic in a blind attempt to swat it away. Luckily, this seems to work, for the cockroach flies back into the bathroom, and with quick thinking that Sato didn’t know he still possessed, he pulls the bathroom door shut, effectively shielding them from the flying spawn of Satan.

Sato’s heart pulses a mile a minute, and he crumples to the floor, panting; that’s probably the most exercise he got this entire week. Then, as an afterthought, he reaches over and turns the vacuum cleaner off.

Suffice to say, the plan is a flop.

“Is…is it gone?” Kuroo asks shakily. He’s still on top of Oikawa, face buried into the Oikawa’s shoulder, his back heaving with his heavy breaths. Oikawa is no different; clamped onto Kuroo for dear life and his face pinched in fear. Looking at them, it’s evident that both of them aren’t the bug killers in their respective relationships. But then again, neither is Sato.

“It’s back in the bathroom,” he says, and the two sigh in relief, bodies visibly relaxing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you guys fall…” Bokuto says, and he really sounds sorry. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Oikawa winces. “Kuro-chan is really heavy. Might have broken a rib there.”

“Drama queen,” Kuroo says good-naturedly, rolling off Oikawa. “Seriously, you okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine. But you know what, can we just wait for Iwa-chan to get here? I’m so done with this.”

“Or hopefully it’ll fly out on its own,” Kuroo says. Sato hopes so too, because he needs to use the toilet soon.

Bokuto fidgets, glancing down at his phone. “Hey man, can you lend me some cologne and dry shampoo? I should probably leave soon…”

In the time they wasted battling the cockroach, the sun has dipped below the horizon, replacing it the bright city lights and the half moon.

“Sure, no problem. Sorry though, I really didn’t know it was gonna be like this…” Kuroo says, standing up. “Wait here, I’ll go get ‘em.”

Bokuto hums an agreement, shooting off a quick text.

“Ooh, Who’re you having dinner with, Bokuto-san? Is it Akaashi-kun?” Oikawa coos, his voice dripping with curiosity.

Sato blinks. Akaashi Keiji, Kuroo’s friend?

“You met Akaashi?” Bokuto asks, a smile making its way back to his face. “But no, tonight I’m meeting my new teammates.”

“Akaashi-kun is a pleasure to talk to. I have to say, you’ve good taste in men, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh! I remember now, you’re _that_ roommate Kuroo told me about!”

Sato’s brain starts to recover from the trauma just now, and he only then recalls that this personified ball of sunshine is in a relationship with one of the most beautiful men Sato has ever met in real life. Looking at Bokuto talking animatedly to Oikawa about his boyfriend, it’s easy to see his appeal on someone as quiet as Akaashi.

And now Sato really wants to know if all skilled volleyball players are gay.

“—impressive facilities, by the way. I might gym here more often, and I can invite Akaashi along!”

“The Sports Science people have their own gym that they get to use for _free,_ lucky them; it even has a spa. I’ll bring you there next time.”

“That’s freaking cool!”

Oikawa nods excitedly, pulling out his phone to show them pictures. “Yeah, look. It has an indoor pool, it’s also used for rehab but usually people just swim, and a fully equipped indoor court and everything—oh, that’s my boyfriend, oops—”

“Woah, it’s buff Akaashi! Your boyfriend and mine, they really look alike!” Bokuto says with mixture of disbelief and awe.

Sato looks at the picture of Iwaizumi on Oikawa’s phone. It’s a side candid of Iwaizumi at the gym, clad in a tank top with his muscular glory out for the world to see. He’s drinking out of his water bottle with half-lidded eyes, relaxed from post-exercise endorphins.

Bokuto brings out a picture of Akaashi, taken from a similar angle, of him in his uniform, talking to another person. Sato has never thought about it, but upon closer inspection, and with Iwaizumi’s hair tamer than usual in that photo, they actually do look alike.

“Actually, yeah. Akaashi-kun is a slimmer, more elegant Iwa-chan.”

“Are they like, long lost brothers or something? But yeah your boyfriend is a total catch! Anyone who looks like Akaashi is definitely one in my book.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t settle for any less,” Oikawa says, as if he hasn’t driven Sato and Kuroo up the wall with his pining for the past few months. Sato’s mouth itches to say something sarcastic, but he lets it slide this time.

Bokuto laughs, giving Oikawa’s shoulder a few hard slaps. “Damn, I like you. Hey Kuroo! Why didn’t you introduce us earlier?”

“Not my fault you were too busy to come,” Kuroo retorts, coming out of his room with the supplies. “And also Oikawa, I _told_ you Akaashi and Iwaizumi looked similar.”

“W-Well, I thought it’d be an insult to Akaashi-kun to be compared to that gorilla,” Oikawa says with a shy smile.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “And you call _him_ a tsundere; just say that you think he’s smoking hot. Also bro, my cologne’s running out, so I brought a roll-on too. I also have the Nike body spray that Kenma gave me if you want…”

“I’ll take the roll-on. Nike smells too strong.” Sato watches with mild disgust as Bokuto slabs the roll-on onto his armpits. How are these two so okay with sharing sweat and armpit hair?

“…How long have you two known each other?”

“Since our second year of high school,” Kuroo replies. “We met at the joint summer camp our schools hosted.”

“Yup. Never clicked with a guy so fast in my life—”

“Bro!” Kuroo pretends to swoon.

“It’s true! We kinda bonded over the fact that we have a thing for smart pretty-boys who are good at what they do,” Bokuto says cheekily, but it’s dominated by the affection in his tone. Kuroo hums an agreement. “And then we both stayed behind for extra practice at night and I was like, hey this guy is good!”

“That’s cool, Seijou never had any inter-school training camps.”

“Having your rivals around really gets you pumping. Hopefully our winter camp is as good as our high school one or I’m gonna be so disappointed.”

“It should be, right? This uni team is a good one too, one of my teammates came from here,” Bokuto says. He finishes with the roll-on, and reaches for the can of dry shampoo. Sato turns away to avoid the sprays of aerosol as Bokuto goes ham on his hair.

“Still feels disgusting, but guess this’ll do for now,” Bokuto says. He glances to the bathroom. “Uh, do you guys mind if I change my shirt here?”

“Oh don’t be shy, go ahead.” This is not what Sato is thinking, but he doesn’t have a valid reason to say no.

He sits, paralyzed, as Bokuto lifts his shirt. He sees chiseled abdominals, glistening with sweat and rippling with each breath he takes; he sees the contour of Bokuto’s serratus muscles and ribs, distinctly prominent as Bokuto raises his arms to shuck his shirt off; he sees big, bulky arms—not unlike Iwaizumi’s— so defined as if it was sculpted by Hercules himself. If Sato doesn’t already know that Bokuto is an up and coming Division 1 V.League player, he’d have thought he was a model.

Sato barely notices that Bokuto is fully dressed again and is ready to leave, too busy feeling a mix of admiration, confusion and envy.

“Lift together again soon? Definitely coming back to this gym,” Bokuto tells Kuroo, and they do a quick bro-handshake. “It’s nice knowing you, Oikawa-san and Sato-san!”

“Drop the ‘san’, we’re all friends here.”

Bokuto beams. “Let’s all play volleyball together if we can!”

After one final wave, Bokuto hurries off to meet his teammates. The three roommates look at each other, letting the calm sink in, before Kuroo suggests they check if the cockroach is gone.

With Sato and Oikawa using Kuroo as a human shield, they pry the door open, only big enough to poke an eye in…

Then promptly shuts it again.

“What a dumb bug,” Oikawa says. “The window is literally _there._ ”

Kuroo groans. “Why is it still there? I need to shower so bad, should I ask the neighbors?”

“Let me see when Iwa-chan is coming…”

It turns out they don’t have to wait long at all. Iwaizumi has just gotten off work, and is now on his way here. This is, of course, incredibly good news, and they are all beside themselves as they wait for the man of the hour.

Oikawa, he is so excited for Iwaizumi’s arrival that, upon hearing the knock, he leaps up and rushes over to the door like a dog awaiting its owner’s return.

“Iwa-chan! My personal bug exterminator!” Oikawa croons, arms loosely wrapping around Iwaizumi as the other takes off his shoes. Oikawa is more affectionate than usual today, but Sato understands; he himself has never been so happy to see Iwaizumi.

“Call me that one more time and I’m leaving.”

“Aww, don’t be mad.”

“My man! Good to see you. Come, it’s in the bathroom…” Kuroo says, ushering their honored guest inside.

“Seriously. You had me come all the way here for _one cockroach._ ” Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Can someone get me a broom?”

“A broom? Okay,” Oikawa volunteers, unsticking himself from Iwaizumi to retrieve it from the genkan. “Is this long enough?”

It’s one of those cheap ones that they got from the thrift store, only reaching up to Sato’s hip, but it seems to be good enough for Iwaizumi.

“We have a vacuum cleaner too, if you want?”

Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa, confused. “Why would I need a vacuum cleaner?”

Three jaws drop at Iwaizumi’s blasé words.

“So…you’re gonna chase it out with just a broom?”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi says and, before anyone else can get another word in, opens the bathroom door.

The three roommates instinctively social distance from Iwaizumi. Oikawa shrieks and scurries to the far corner of the room, Kuroo close behind. Sato ducks into his room, peering out the door to watch Iwaizumi step into the war zone.

From where he’s standing, he can’t see what Iwaizumi’s doing inside. He hears sounds of running water, followed by the broom hitting the ceramic walls, and that’s it— No screaming or falling; pretty anticlimatic considering the lengths they went to try and kill it before.

There is a loud ‘smack’, and Oikawa gasps.

“There. It wouldn’t leave, so I had to kill it.” To them, Iwaizumi might as well be a God.

“Iwaizumi…you’re so cool!” Sato says earnestly. Some heroes really don’t wear capes.

“All hail our lord and savior, Iwaizumi Hajime!”

“You guys are exaggerating, it’s not that big a deal…”

“Guess those gorilla arms are good for something after all,” Oikawa says, squeezing Iwaizumi’s biceps. Iwaizumi half-heartedly smacks him off.

“Seriously though, you have balls of steel. How are you not scared of it?” Kuroo asks.

“More like why are you so scared of a bug ten thousandth your size?” Iwaizumi counters, handing Kuroo the broom. No one has a good reply to that.

“Iwa-chan! There’s bug guts all over the wall, and t-there’s blood dripping down ewwwww!”

Sato peeks inside, and immediately tears his eyes away from the bloody carcass. He thinks he saw one of the antennae twitching, but he hopes it’s his imagination. 

“Stop being so dramatic and just wipe it off.”

“But it’s so disgusting!”

“I don’t want to look at it for another second…” Kuroo mutters. Sato nods fervently.

Thankfully, Iwaizumi relents. “Fine, I’ll do it myself. You three are hopeless…” Iwaizumi takes the rag from Oikawa and goes in to clear the crime scene amidst whoops and cheers.

But that joy soon turns into horror when Iwaizumi comes out, a devilish smile on his lips, and waves the cockroach remains at their faces. Unfortunately for Oikawa, Iwaizumi chooses him as his target.

Oikawa edges away from Iwaizumi, eyes wide with fear. “No please no no DON’T YOU DARE—”

Thus, for the second time today, Oikawa falls to the floor and lets loose a blood-curdling scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the next day, their neighbors complain.
> 
> Please do not attempt this at home, and just kill it like normal people (Iwaizumi). Hope you liked seeing OiBoKuro and thank you for the kudos and comments thus far, they really make me happy :D


	12. Nekoma v. Itachiyama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sato wonders how he let himself be talked to attending the Japan Spring Nationals Tokyo prefecture qualifiers, but Kuroo could be persuasive when he wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those who have been under a rock, Haikyuu (the manga) ended, and on Oikawa’s bday no less (Happy birthday Oikawa!!). But couldn’t have asked for a better ending. Thank you Furudate! 
> 
> Ofc, I’m going to continue this series (it’s halfway done already!!) as long as people want it, and since it’s an AU, canon events has no bearing on this story. 
> 
> Here’s the latest chap, and excuse me while I go cry a river;;

  
Sato does not comprehend why he is at Sumida Gymnasium on a chilly Saturday morning when he could be sleeping in. But here he is, bundled up under three layers and trying not to fall asleep standing up.

“That airhead is so late.” Kuroo clicks his tongue, hands deep into the pockets of his Nekoma varsity jacket. Sato wants to tell him that they’re the early ones; there’s barely anyone around them.

“Here, coffee,” Oikawa, bless him, comes back from the convenience store with three cans. He hands one to Sato, who accepts it gratefully.

Kuroo ceases his foot tapping in favour of downing the liquid caffeine, as does Oikawa.

“Doesn’t the first match start at ten? Why do we have to come so early?” Sato asks. He wonders how he let himself be talked to attending the Japan Spring Nationals Tokyo prefecture qualifiers, but Kuroo could be persuasive when he wants to be.

“The teams have to come at nine to change and stretch. Fifteen minutes before is the official warm-up, so we now only have like—” Kuroo glances at his watch again “—twenty minutes if we want to talk to them pregame.”

“Ah, I see.” Sato never had the chance to play an official match—volleyball is just a hobby for him to pass time in high school, after all— so it would be a lie to say that he isn’t the slightest bit excited about getting to see a live game, even if he has to get up with the sun to come to the venue.

“BRO!” Bokuto can be heard before he can be seen. He vaults over the metal railing, runs across the courtyard, and skids to a halt in front of them. “Sorry I’m late, overslept!”

“I told you to set ten alarms,” Kuroo says, returning his fist bump in greeting. “C’mon, let’s go before we miss them.”

Bokuto wipes the sweat off his face with his sleeve. “Oh, it’s Oikawa! And Sato! Nice to see you again!” For someone who just sprinted at least a couple hundred metres, Bokuto is pretty peppy. Then again, he _is_ a professional athlete after all.

“Any minute later and Kuroo must burst an aneurysm,” Oikawa says. “He’ll die if he isn’t present for his team’s pregame pep talk.”

Bokuto lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh, that gaudy chant—” “— _It’s not gaudy_!” “I legit spat my drink out when I heard him say that the first time. You don’t seriously expect your juniors to continue the tradition, do you?”

“Hey! It’s really profound, okay? And everyone likes it!”

When Kuroo is far enough ahead, Bokuto turns around to whisper to them, “when he became captain, the first thing he did was come up with it. That’s why he’s so proud of it.”

They push open the double doors, and Sato is thankful to finally be out of the cold. He unzips his puffer, his body relaxing slightly, and follows Kuroo and Bokuto to the players’ waiting area.

The Nekoma High team is clad in their all-red ensemble. Sato spots someone with a patch of blond hair with black roots—Kenma—curled up against the wall, looking as if he might doze off.

Sato is not really that surprised to see the high schooler like that, given with what he knows about the boy. To Kenma’s credit, his jersey contains the underlined number two, signifying his status as captain, so he must be doing something right.

“HEY HEY HEY!” Bokuto lets out an ear-splitting shout, turning all eyes on him, including the other team’s.

Kuroo elbows him in the ribs. “Oi! Go do that with your own team and don’t steal my thunder.”

Bokuto responds by sticking out his tongue.

“Kuroo!” A small figure comes barreling into him, almost knocking him over. “You’re late!”

“Not me, it’s him!” Kuroo defends, pointing at Bokuto.

“Hi Yakkun!” Bokuto beams, wrapping the small man in a hug, and Sato notes with amazement that this man is even shorter than him!

“Bokuto! Heard you got drafted by MSBY, congrats!” ‘Yakkun’ replies as enthusiastically.

“Congratulations from me too, Bokuto-san!” Nekoma’s number one, a yankee-like teenager, comes up to them as well, giving Bokuto a high-five. Sato is starting to feel dizzy with the number of strangers in the room, and contemplates joining Kenma at his little corner.

“My former team’s more happy to see Bokuto than me,” Kuroo says dramatically, “I can’t believe this betrayal.”

Oikawa pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t mind, Kuro-chan.”

Kuroo briefly introduces Sato and Oikawa to one Yaku Morisuke and Nobuyuki Kai—both also alumni, Fukunaga Shohei, the current vice-captain donning jersey number three, and Yamamoto Taketora, the current ace with the number one. Meanwhile, Bokuto flitters around within the sea of red, looking right at home with a team that wasn’t even his. Sato almost envies his cheer and charisma.

“Kenma! There you are,” Kuroo says once he spots the younger boy. “Are you _sleeping_ before a game?”

“Not sleeping. It’s called concentrating,” Kenma rebukes, opening his eyes blearily, but even Sato is dubious about that.

“You look more tired than usual, did you have anything to eat yet?”

“Yes. Stop mothering me.”

Sato is content to wait at the sidelines as Kuroo catches up with his former team, even flexing a little at the starry-eyed first years; if only they knew what a dork he actually is.

“Yuma-san, you came.” Kenma has somehow escaped Kuroo’s clutches and joins Sato in the corner.

“Is it always like this energetic?”

“Our ace gets hyper before every game and can’t sit still, so yes.”

Sato looks at Yamamoto, who’s currently talking to Bokuto with moving hands and sparkly eyes. “I can imagine that.”

“Ya hoo, Pudding-kun.” Oikawa seems to have enough of socializing with the team, heading to them with his phone out. “Good luck today. Itachiyama, right?”

Kenma exhales. He looks slightly worried. “Yes.”

“Ooh, that’s tough. Sakusa Kiyoomi only seems like he’s gotten better since last year. Pretty unlucky that you’re in the same bracket as him.”

“It was either Itachiyama or Fukurodani depending on the semifinals. Don’t even know which I’d rather face, to be honest.”

“Realistically speaking, Itachiyama is stronger, since Bokuto is no longer in Fukurodani. But maybe Akaashi-kun has some tricks up his sleeve.”

“Akaashi-san is an excellent setter,” Kenma says. “So is Itachiyama’s captain.”

“Pudding-kun! Don’t sell yourself short. Kuro-chan only has high praises for you.”

Kenma ducks his head shyly, his cheeks flushing pink.

“Kenma, come! We need to set the mood!” Kuroo calls, as if prompted by their mention of him. The Nekoma team huddles into a small circle, including the alumni, and Sato has a feeling he’s going to be witnessing the infamous team chant Bokuto was talking about.

Kenma lets out a small groan, but obediently heads over. “Must we?”

“It’s tradition!” Yamamoto insists with a roar. “Brings us good luck.”

“You’d think that after nearly two years of saying it _every game_ , you’d be used to it, Kenma-san,” the lanky, silver-haired teenager says, making room for Kenma to slot himself in. It’s almost comical to see him in between Kenma and Yaku.

“Alright. Fukunaga, go ahead.”

“We are the body’s blood. We will flow smoothly, keep the oxygen flowing so our brain can work to it’s full potential.”

Sato understands the meaning and appeal behind it. But he doesn’t quite understand why Oikawa is laughing quietly beside him, or why Bokuto is shooting Kuroo weird, knowing glances with a smile on his face. Maybe it’s some volleyball-related metaphor he didn’t manage to pick up on in his three years of high school.

_“_ Oh, Sakusa! Hey!” Bokuto suddenly yells, heading over to Itachiyama’s side of the room, specifically towards a man with wavy hair with a face mask, hunched over at another corner.

“Please don’t come any closer, Bokuto-san.”

When the officials come in to cue the teams to move to the court for official warmup, it’s time for all the non-players to leave. Kuroo and Yaku holler one last ‘good luck’ to their alma mater before they too, leave the room and head to the spectators’ stands.

Sato knows that Japan takes their volleyball seriously; maybe not as seriously as baseball, but enough to gather a sizable crowd at a high school qualifiers match at too-early O’clock. He’s impressed, to say the least.

“This…this is bigger than the Sendai gymnasium,” Oikawa says, his voice rising in awe. The sounds of sneakers creaking against polished wooden floors and volleyballs slamming satisfyingly against skin; the smell of salonpas permeating the air; the sight of the setters and spikers working in tandem like well-oiled machines—a flair only seen in highly skilled teams like Nekoma and Itachiyama: it’s a nostalgic feeling Sato didn’t know he missed until now.

They get seats behind Nekoma’s cheering squad, far enough to get their view obstructed, but close enough that Kuroo and Yaku can talk to them, some of their juniors recognizing and greeting them.

“Bad hair as always, Rooster-haired bastard.” A tall man with a side fringe that can pass as emo sits directly behind Kuroo, a pretty brunette in tow.

“Though you upped and died somewhere when you didn’t answer my call, snake bastard,” Kuroo replies without missing a beat. “Mika-chan, nice seeing you.”

Sato can’t even begin to keep up with the sheer amount of friends and acquaintances Kuroo has, so he leaves them to their friendly banter, opting to listen instead to Oikawa and Bokuto’s analysis on both teams’ starters. He asks about some of the players that catch his novice eye, and they’re happy to oblige him.

The warmup comes to an end, both team captains shake hands, and it’s time for the first match of the Tokyo prefecture finals to begin.

Nekoma gets the first serve with Kenma up first. Fukunaga and the Libero are with him in the back row, and Yamamoto in the front left. Sato doesn’t know the other two players, but the numbers on their jerseys are enough for him to follow Oikawa and Bokuto’s whispered commentary.

Yamamoto goes in for a spike, but Itachiyama’s #2 gets a solid block. The first point goes to Itachiyama.

Sato follows the ball’s back and forth for a couple of points. Nekoma’s defense is very solid, they manage to save balls that Sato and his ex-team would have given up on. But according to Bokuto, Kuroo and his two friends’ departures last year left behind a gaping hole that couldn’t quite be closed even with the current lineup at its peak.

Itachiyama scores again, bringing the score to 5-2.

Itachiyama rotates, putting the wavy haired number four at the back right, and Itachiyama’s cheering squad roars.

“Never thought I’d be seeing Sakusa Kiyoomi’s serves live,” Oikawa says. He leans forward onto his knees and curls into a ball. Sato recognizes this as Oikawa’s ‘concentration’ pose.

The umpire blows his whistle to signal the start of the serve. Sakusa moves, as light and agile as a panther. It’s beautiful to watch, and Sato only takes his eyes off Sakusa when the ball slams deafeningly into Nekoma’s court; a service ace.

“We’ll get the next one!” Yamamoto hollers to his teammates.

“If you get to receive it, it gives you a funny feeling, and not the good kind.” Bokuto sticks his tongue out to convey his disgust.

“I’d love to try though, sounds like a challenge,” a gruff voice sounds behind them.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, but his eyes are still trained on the game.

“Yo. Sorry I’m late.”

Sato and Bokuto both turn. Sure enough, it’s Iwaizumi in a gray hoodie under a denim jacket with matching denim bottoms. He hops down to their row to sit on Oikawa’s other side.

Bokuto nudges Sato and whispers, “that Oikawa’s boy?”

“Yup. That’s Iwaizumi.”

Bokuto sneaks awestruck glances at the man in question. “He really does look like Akaashi.”

“Careful, you don’t wanna be kissing the wrong boyfriend,” Kuroo teases, having overheard them.

“Of course I won’t!”

Kenma performs a setter dump, surprising the other team enough that the point goes to Nekoma. Kuroo’s teasing dies in his mouth as he pulls Yaku in for a hug, blubbering out endless praise for the setter like a proud parent.

“Gah, what are we doing up here, we should be down there cheering!” Kuroo exclaims. The taller man grabs Yaku by the wrist, dragging him out to join Nekoma’s cheer squad below. Nobuyuki follows them down with an amused smile.

Nekoma rotates, and the silver haired two-meter player is up to serve with the score 11-8 for Itachiyama. From what Sato can see, along with Bokuto and Oikawa’s commentary, although his blocks are nothing to sneeze at, his back-row defense is one of Nekoma’s weakest links. The Libero should be subbing him after this round.

The umpire blows his whistle, and Two-meter guy serves…

…and hits Yamamoto in the back.

The ball drops to the ground, rolling and stopping at Kenma’s feet. The point goes to Itachiyama for 12-8.

“LEV!” Yamamoto roars, audible even to the audience. “STOP BEING SO NERVOUS!”

“I’M SORRY SENPAI!” 

Nekoma’s coach calls for a time-out.

Everyone bursts out laughing. Bokuto is practically the personification of ‘ROFL’ as he kneels onto the ground, unable to support his weight.

“Oh my God Kuro-chan, your junior is—wait, where is he?”

“There,” Sato tells Oikawa, pointing to the former Nekoma captain up front, who is clutching his stomach and barking out a hyena-like laughter.

The game progresses without any more mishaps. Itachiyama maintains a solid lead from Nekoma, despite the latter’s efforts, and takes the first first set with 25-19.

During the break between sets, as the two teams swap sides of the court, the Fukurodani and Nohebi teams arrive at the spectator stands to watch. Upon seeing Akaashi, Bokuto’s face brightens considerably. He immediately stands and heads over to where the Fukurodani team is sitting. Emo-fringe guy and his girlfriend also leave for the Nohebi team.

“That’s Fukurōdani and Nohebi, right? The next match?” Iwaizumi asks. Sato takes Bokuto’s vacated seat next to Oikawa, seeing as both his seat buddies are with their alma maters.

“Yeah. That guy with the silver hair, he’s Bokuto Koutarou.”

Iwaizumi’s head whips around to stare between Oikawa and Bokuto. “The Bokuto that was one of the top five high school aces?”

Oikawa laughs at Iwaizumi’s enthusiasm. “Don’t worry, Iwa-chan, I’ll introduce you two after the match. I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you.” His voice lilts with mirth. Sato watches Bokuto glomp Akaashi into a bear hug; certainly, Bokuto will like Iwaizumi very _very_ much.

The second set begins. Kenma snatches the first point for Nekoma right under Itachiyama’s noses with a service ace grazing the sidelines, tipping the momentum in their favour.

The two teams go back and forth, the score difference never exceeding two this time; the short break between the first and second set seems to have done Nekoma well.

However, in a bid to widen the point gap, Itachiyama substitutes one of their middle blockers for a pinch server after their 19th point, successfully taking another point with a loud, bone-breaking service ace. The score is now 20-17.

“Sorry!” Nekoma’s Libero calls. Sato wonders how his arms hasn’t fallen off yet.

“Don’t mind, Shibayama!”

Shibayama makes up for his error with Itachiyama’s next serve, preventing another service ace and getting the ball back up. But it flies high right back into Itachiyama’s court.

“Chance ball!” 

Sakusa slaps the ball right back into Nekoma’s court. 21-17.

“Sakusa’s too good. I can feel the pressure even from up here,” Iwaizumi says with a grimace. “Reminds me too much of our matches against Shiratorizawa.”

“He _is_ currently Japan’s best player in the high school bracket, even better than Ushiwaka last year,” Oikawa replies.

At 23 points, Sakusa’s up to serve. Things are looking bad for Nekoma, who’s still at 17 points. By now, Nekoma’s skilled Libero can consistently receive Sakusa’s serves, but the unique spin Sakusa puts on the ball still makes it hard to get a solid receive, according to Oikawa. The ball flies to Kenma, who manages to feint Itachiyama’s blockers. Yamamoto spikes the ball down in an A-quick. 23-18.

Nekoma’s cheer squad erupts as Nekoma rotates, putting Kenma in the back row again.

The umpire blows the whistle, and the cheering slowly quietens as Kenma prepares to serve.

“Kenma nice serve!”

Kenma grips the ball, throws it up, and executes a float serve.

Oikawa whistles. “Pudding-kun can do a floater.” A floater adds unpredictability to the ball’s trajectory due to its lack of spin, and is therefore harder to receive. However, it’s also hard to master; no one in Sato’s high school team could do it.

The ball wobbles, and for a heart-stopping moment it looked like it was going to hit the net. It didn’t; curving sharply downwards that Itachiyama’s captain-slash-setter has to break formation to keep it afloat.

“Setter’s out. Nekoma might be able to get a point back if they can counter, and hopefully they can catch up and drag it to the third set.” Iwaizumi says.

“Iwa-chan, this is the finals. There will be a third set regardless,” Oikawa reminds him. But Iwaizumi looks back at Oikawa, confused.

“Isn’t this technically the semifinals, Since Tokyo gets three representatives. Is it a best of five for all three games?”

“No. This year Harukou’s held at Kanagawa.” Sato blinks. He’d assumed that Tokyo would host every year, being the capital city and all. “So Tokyo gets two, Kanagawa gets three.”

“Oh, so this really is the finals, then.”

Oikawa leans back against his seat. “Last year, Nekoma got in as the home representative. I can’t even being to imagine what they felt when they heard Tokyo’s not hosting this year…”

The point gap has lessened, but Itachiyama is currently at match point. While there is a chance to make amends in the third set, the mood surrounding the Nekoma team has dampened; not surprising, given that Itachiyama has basically taken the endgame momentum and ran off with it.

Nekoma’s cheer squad notices this and tries to compensate with more energetic cheers, but Itachiyama’s lead was too great. They take the second set 25-21.

Sato exhales the breath he didn’t know he was holding. These two teams are on a whole different level from the games Sato was used to watching in high school. It’s exhilarating just watching them.

But just before the start of the third set, Sato feels his phone vibrate against his leg. It’s his girlfriend, and Sato belatedly remembers that it’s her last day of exams; lucky her. That, and they haven’t called in _weeks_ due to the differences in their schedules. So, with a regretful glance at the court, he excuses himself to take her call.

One long catch up session later, Sato returns into the gym.

“Itachiyama is leading 21-19. Nekoma already took both their time-outs.” Oikawa tells him as he sits down. “They’re getting desperate.”

“They’re giving it their 120% here,” Iwaizumi says admirably.

The drop in energy from the second set is palpable, especially on Nekoma’s side. It’s unsurprising, given the two consecutive losses they faced with no signs of improvement. Itachiyama is tiring out as well, but not enough to give Nekoma a break.

Itachiyama gets their 22nd point with Sakusa blasting through Kenma and middle blocker number seven’s defense, the ball ricocheting off their palms to the outside.

Number seven falls to the floor, causing alarm as his teammates rush over to check on him. Luckily, it seems like he fell from exhaustion rather than any injury, much to everyone’s relief.

“That guy’s at his limit,” Iwaizumi says. “They should sub him out soon.”

Oikawa disagrees. “Introducing someone new this late is a double edged sword. I don’t think they will. Number seven can rest when he’s tagged out by the Libero.”

Not all is lost for Nekoma though. The spitzy Yamamoto snags a point with a back attack from Kenma. Next, in a genius, reverse-psychology move on Kenma’s part, the other wing spiker manages another point with the same back attack.

When Number seven is rotated to the back center he, as Oikawa predicted, was tagged out by the Libero without being substituted. However, from the sag in his posture, it’s obvious that he won’t be able to play to his fullest ability this endgame.

Nekoma scores again: 23-22.

The next rally is a long one, with Nekoma gritting their teeth to try and bridge the gap; at this point, Nekoma is fueled half by desperation and half by muscle memory. But Sakusa’s spikes, though notably less in power than the start, still gives them trouble. The score crawls up to Itachiyama’s match point. The tension around Nekoma grows.

“Go go Nekoma, push it push it Nekoma—”

“ _Volleyball is supposed to be fun_!” Someone yells, and no doubt, this is Kuroo’s voice, cracked slightly from the volume. The cheering squad quietens, and the umpire shoots him a glare, but he pays no heed. “It’s fun, so why do you all look so stiff!”

And ironically, Kuroo’s one sentence holds the power equivalent to five cheering squads. The effect is instantaneous: the tension dissipates, and hunched backs straighten with renewed vigor.

“Kuroo-senpai is right!” Yamamoto is the first to recover, as expected of the ace.“WE’LL GET THE NEXT ONE!” 

The umpire blows his whistle.

Luckily, it’s not Sakusa’s serve, so the ball is easily received by Fukunaga, who connects it to Kenma up front. The other players aside from Shibayama run up simultaneously, making it practically impossible to predict who Kenma is going to toss to.

Is it Yamamoto? Lev? Or the other spiker?

Then, with a graceful flick of his hand, Kenma does a setter dump. It’s his third against Itachiyama, but they’re still caught off-guard. The ball drops to the floor, along with two of Itachiyama’s players.

Sato wants to know where he can sign up for Kozume Kenma’s fan club, because that was so cool, he doesn’t have the words to describe it.

“Not bad, Pudding-kun.”

“Really nice timing.”

It seems Oikawa and Iwaizumi are impressed too.

The score is 24-23. If Nekoma can score one more point, they can drag the game to a deuce and hopefully turn things around.

“A pinch server for Nekoma would be nice right now, if they have a good one,” Iwaizumi says idly.

“I’d feel so bad for the guy though, that’s so much pressure.” Sato says.

Itachiyama would be thinking along the same lines. For them, a deuce or a fourth set means more energy expended, and they would want a clean win off Nekoma right now.

Nekoma does not send in a pinch server.

Fukunaga serves. Itachiyama receives it with ease.

A lot is hinging on this rally: will Itachiyama dominate Nekoma in a 3-0, or will Nekoma get a fighting chance for the spring nationals?

Nekoma is a volleyball powerhouse known for their solid defense, flexible plays, and their ability to seamlessly connect. Kuroo has proudly told Sato and Oikawa that the Nekoma under his captaincy is the best Nekoma has to offer in a long while, and that he has utmost confidence that Kenma can bring the team to greater heights.

Shibayama receives a spike and sends it in a nice arc to Kenma. Lev runs up and jumps. From the audiences’ vantage point, they can see Yamamoto creeping up behind him for a back attack, obscured behind Lev’s towering figure.

It should have been a perfect spike. It should have become a deuce.

But Itachiyama also has a skilled Libero: the best that high school Japan has to offer to boot. The combination of the number one ace and the number one Libero in the same lineup is too much for Nekoma to handle.

Itachiyama’s Libero receives Yamamoto’s spike, and in the blink of an eye, Sakusa is in the air and slamming it back down to Nekoma’s court.

The ball crashes into Lev’s waiting arms. It volleys off to the outside, no doubt the nasty effect of Sakusa’s spin.

Everyone in Nekoma scrambles for it, even the players on the far end.

But it’s too late. The ball hits the floor with a decisive thump, Kenma’s outstretched hand a hair’s breadth away.

3-0: Itachiyama advances to the spring nationals.


	13. Distances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘I confessed’.
> 
> The message was sent an hour ago, and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who confessed? Huehue

Fukurōdani advances to the spring nationals with a 3:1 against Nohebi.

The next day, Fukurōdani and Itachiyama will battle it out to determine who bypasses the first seed in nationals as Tokyo Representative 1, but Sato already decides that he wouldn’t be going, for final exams are looming too close for comfort, and he has already spent the entirety of today not studying.

When they step out of Sumida gymnasium, night has already befallen. Sato shivers, already missing the heat from inside, as he zips up his puffer.

“Do you guys wanna get dinner?” Bokuto chirps, still drunk on his alma mater’s victory.

“Sure, but…didn’t you say you’re eating with your team?” Oikawa asks.

“They’ll survive without me for a day. Besides, I’m hungry and I can’t wait a second longer. Ramen sound good? There’s a good place a few streets down.”

No one disagrees. Sato, too, wants to get something warm and filling inside him. They huddle outside as they wait for Akaashi to shower and change, because apparently he’s joining them too.

“Is Kuroo coming too?” Oikawa asks Bokuto.

Bokuto makes a confused sound. “I don’t…know?”

“…Isn’t he with you?”

“No? I thought he was with _you_.”

They blink at each other. Bokuto tilts his head.

Kuroo has been unaccounted for since the start of the Fukurōdani v. Nohebi match; what fantastic friends they are.

“He probably left with Nekoma.” Iwaizumi pipes up. He guesses Kuroo wouldn’t be in the mood to watch the next match, given his alma mater sweeping loss.

“Makes sense. I’ll call him to check. Damn rooster-head making us worried…”

Akaashi arrives at that moment, out of his uniform and his gear bag slung over his shoulder. “Sorry to keep everyone waiting.”

“He’s not answering. Didn’t even read my LINE too, so I thought he went back to you guys…”

Oikawa shakes his head. “Nothing on our end either; we just assumed he went to sit with Fukurōdani.”

“What’s going on?”

Bokuto rounds on Akaashi, gnawing on his lip. “Kuroo’s gone since the end of the first game, and we only just noticed.”

“Oh, Kuroo-san? We saw him with Nekoma when we crossed paths, he must have left with them.” With Akaashi’s confirmation, they relax; at least Kuroo’s not missing.

“Then he’s definitely with Kenma,” Bokuto says. He switches from worried to self-assured so quickly, it gives Sato whiplash. “C’mon, let’s go eat. I’m starving!”

“How can you so sure?” Akaashi asks as they leave Kinshi park for the ramen restaurant. “Shouldn’t we call Kenma-san to check?”

“As if Kenma would answer. I bet his phone is still switched off from since before his game.”

“Pudding-kun is one thing, but it’s rare for Kuro-chan to be uncontactable, especially for hours,” says Oikawa. Sato understands what he’s getting at: when a normally fast texter doesn’t reply or answer their phone within the hour, that is cause for alarm.

“Well, yeah, but he’s always doing that anyway,” Bokuto says cryptically.

“Bokuto-san…?”

They stop at a zebra crossing and wait for the red man to turn green. Bokuto taps his foot, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“With Kenma, the guy will literally drop everything for him. This isn’t the first time Kuroo upped and bailed on a social event for him…not that there’s anything wrong with that, but yeah…I just _know_ that he’s with Kenma right now. Don’t worry!” Bokuto shoots them a grin.

“Ah.” Oikawa chuckles. “I get it.”

“Get what?” Iwaizumi asks.

The red man turns green, and the cross the road. Oikawa shoves his hands in the pockets of his trench coat and walks to Bokuto, ignoring Iwaizumi’s question.

“Kuro-chan has a soft spot for our little pudding-kun, doesn’t he?”

“Of course he does!” Is Bokuto’s snap response. “Kenma’s his first and oldest friend. They have a lot of history together.”

_A lot of history indeed_ , Sato thinks, _and also a lot of unresolved tension, even if one party is completely oblivious._

_“_ Kuro-chan is exceptionally and uncannily attuned to Pudding-kun’s needs. Is that the shared history talking, or maybe…” Oikawa seems to only realize the weight of his words, and immediately cuts himself off.

“Huh, I guess?” Bokuto answers happily, obviously having no idea what Oikawa was implying. But Sato does, having privately arrived at the same conclusion himself, and so does Akaashi.

Oikawa goes quiet. Bokuto takes this chance to ramble about the ramen restaurant they’re heading to.

“Oikawa-san, I’m sure you know this, but Kuroo-san is currently dating Tsukishima,” Akaashi tells him quietly when Iwaizumi and Bokuto have both pulled ahead at a safe distance. “With all due respect, I do not like what you are insinuating.”

In an attempt to quell Akaashi’s ire, Sato says, “I don’t think Oikawa means it that way…”

Oikawa shakes his head. “We all know I meant it that way, and I apologize, it was out of line. I wasn’t thinking when I said that.” He shoots Akaashi a small smile; a peace offering.

Akaashi softens, returning Oikawa a smile of his own. Metaphorical flowers are practically blooming in the backdrop against the two men. “If it was unintentional, then so be it. Kuroo and Tsukishima do not need the additional stress.”

“Akaashi-kun, I would never sabotage my friend’s relationships!”

They arrive at the restaurant and get seated. Bokuto immediately rattles out his order to the server, obviously familiar with the place, and excitedly introduces the menu to an equally excited Iwaizumi. The pair didn’t seem to have noticed the slight friction between Akaashi and Oikawa a few moments ago.

Oikawa and Akaashi don’t seem to harbor any ill feelings towards each other, so Sato relaxes and puts Kuroo and Kenma out of his mind for the time being.

It’s when they’re digging into their delicious ramen, Bokuto and Iwaizumi well into their third bowls (are their stomachs black holes?), that Bokuto’s phone loudly vibrates on the table. His screen lights up, displaying Kuroo’s face.

With a mouth full of noodles, and everyone’s attention switched to him, Bokuto answers the phone. He brings it to his ears while his dominant hand continues to work his chopsticks. “Bastard. At least tell us if you’re going to leave first!”

None of them make an attempt to hide that they’re listening in on Bokuto’s conversation. “Me? I’m grabbing dinner with ‘kaashi and—” Bokuto goes silent. He puts his chopsticks down. Akaashi follows suit.

“Bro, what…where are you?” Bokuto asks, worryingly. “Are you okay?”

Everyone on the table stops and stares and Bokuto. Akaashi taps Bokuto on the arm, drawing the other’s attention. They share a brief look—silently communicating—and then Bokuto stands up and grabs his belongings.

“I’m on my way. If you get there first, just knock, my roommate should be in-” Bokuto says in a flurry, and then he’s gone.

The four left behind take a moment for process the transpired event.

“What just happened,” Iwaizumi directs the question towards Akaashi.

“Your guess is as good as mine, although now we definitely know that Kuroo-san is in good hands.” Akaashi has no reason to lie to them, though Sato bets that he’ll be updated by Bokuto shortly after.

“Didn’t Bokuto say that he was with Pudding-kun? Maybe something happened between them…” Oikawa speculates, but without any more information, it remains as that.

“Maybe he wasn’t with Kozume,” Iwaizumi suggests. “Bokuto-san just _thought_ he was.”

“Perhaps,” Akaashi agrees. “If he really was with Kenma-san, he wouldn’t have asked to go to Bokuto-san’s flat.”

“Very interesting turn of events here.” Oikawa drums his fingers on the table. “Maybe Pudding-kun needs some tender loving care?”

“Bokuto-san will be the last person Kenma-san will ask for,” Akaashi says in a deadpan. Sato is inclined to agree.

“Ah, I wanna know so bad what happened!”

Iwaizumi pokes Oikawa with the clean side of his chopsticks. “Don’t butt into other people’s shit. Kuroo’ll probably tell us tomorrow.” Sato hasn’t even realized Iwaizumi has resumed eating, polishing off his third bowl.

That cues Sato to finish his dinner. Iwaizumi is right: it’s none of their business, and he’d have to wait to hear it from Kuroo himself when the latter comes back to their flat.

Apparently not.

Unlike Oikawa, Sato doesn’t have to wait for Kuroo’s return to be in the loop. When he checks his phone on their way back, he sees a short but heart-dropping LINE message from Kenma:

_’I confessed’._

The message was sent an hour ago, and nothing more.

It was only two words, but that was enough for Sato to glean what had happened with the given context. The phone nearly slips out of his hand in his haste to call Kenma, but he needn’t have bothered; the call goes straight to voicemail.

Sato spends the rest of the evening worrying in silence. Luckily, Oikawa is too busy talking to Iwaizumi to notice.

To make matters worse, Kuroo doesn’t return until the day after next, having stayed over at Bokuto’s for two nights. He sheds no light of the situation on his end, citing ‘personal problems’ with a smile as fake as Kim Kardashian’s butt, and that’s a dismissal if Sato ever heard one—a subtle warning not to pry.

“I’ve never seen him like this,” Oikawa says to Sato, out of Kuroo’s earshot. “Something bad must have happened.”

Sure, Sato is worried about Kuroo, but more so Kenma, if he were honest. But he couldn’t tell Oikawa that. It wasn’t his story to tell.

To make matters worse, Kuroo is acting like a grade A douchebag:

**Kozume K.**

_He said he needed to think._

_But it’s okay, I more or less expected this._

_Sorry for the late reply._

_But you were right_

_It does feel liberating_

_So thank you…I guess._

Sato is still irrationally guilty, as if he somehow coerced Kenma into confessing in the heat of vulnerability. Kenma isn’t angry at him—just very, very sad— and that tightens the heavy knot in his gut.

Final exams are near approaching, and once again, the roommates are thrown into university student-hell as they proceed to cram a semester’s worth of content in a significantly less time. In between studying, eating, and periodically checking on Kenma, it was a whirlwind of a week. Luckily, there were no fainting spells this time.

****

Somehow, they survive the week, and it’s finally the last stretch. By then, Sato has read and analyzed so many fact patterns and case studies that he’s sure he’s muttering them in his sleep. He can’t wait to get their last paper over and done with, and finally go home for the winter holidays.

On the eve of their last paper, it’s on borrowed energy that Sato is walking back from the library with Oikawa, discussing the ‘correct’ answer to one of the previous years’ papers.

“—if it’s an offer, then Tom’s response is a rejection of that offer and a resulting counteroffer.”

“But the company did meet Tom’s offer of ¥50000 for the purchase of the song’s rights. Also, their inclusion of—

“Stop running away you coward!” Oikawa is cut off mid-sentence as both their attentions shifted to the source of the disturbance.

At the nearby bus stop, a short man with strawberry-blond hair, bundled up in a thick coat and scarf, is shouting up a storm at a much taller man, who for some reason looks familiar…

“Isn’t that Kuro-chan?” Oikawa says, turning to Sato in surprise.

“It is.” Sato would recognize that bed head even in a crowded street.

Other people are also looking at the pair. It’s an unusual sight, not only because they’ve never seen Kuroo look so uncomfortable, but also due to their height difference. Yaku Morisuke is almost a foot shorter than Kuroo, but with the way he’s scolding Kuroo, it might as well be a centimeter.

“Should we say hi…?”

“And interrupt _that_?” Oikawa gestures to Yaku, who is now jabbing Kuroo’s sides. It looks painful. “No way. Now I know why Kuro-chan calls him ‘demon-senpai’…”

“His mannerisms remind me of Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa giggles. “Iwa-chan is way worse. He once head-butted me so hard he gave me a nosebleed…”

They return to their flat, and Sato calls first dibs on the shower.

Over the sounds of running water, he hears the front door open and close. Kuroo is back. There’s muted voices, but he doesn’t think too much of it.

He finishes up his shower, stepping out to towel himself off. Kuroo and Oikawa are still talking in the living room, and he hears Oikawa asking about what happened with Yaku.

“—chewed me out for it, but I guess I deserved it.”

Sato goes to dump his soiled clothes into his hamper, then rejoins his roommates in the living room.

“But to be fair I was really shocked. I didn’t…never expected… _him_ of all people…” Kuroo exhales through his mouth, his hands running through his hair in a nervous tic.

“You have no right to call me oblivious now. Don’t you see the way he looks at you?” Oikawa says, not unkindly.

It seems Oikawa, too, had noticed Kenma’s feelings towards Kuroo. “Oikawa, you knew?”

“Know what?”

Sato backtracks in fear of accidentally revealing something he shouldn’t. “Is this about…what happened Saturday night?”

“Fucking hell, how does everyone know about this?” Kuroo snaps. “Who told you?”

“We figured it out ourselves. Like I said, it was really obvious, and in my opinion, a long time coming,” Oikawa placates, bumping Kuroo’s shoulder with his own.

Sato thinks he shouldn’t mention that it was Kenma who told him. Anything could set Kuroo off right now.

“I guess I didn’t know Kenma as well as I’d like to think.” Kuroo’s voice cracks, and when he looks up from the floor, his expression conveys the full extent of his emotional pain. “What kind of friend am I? That I didn’t even _notice,_ especially when I…him…” Kuroo hesitates.

“When you what?” Oikawa presses.

Kuroo’s eyes dart back and forth, unwilling to meet theirs. He hangs his head. “I…I liked him too.”

The uttered words reverberate in the silence of their small living room, thundering, more so with its significance than its volume.

Kenma, Sato can see, but Kuroo I’m-dating-Tsukki Tetsurou? Never did Sato think this was true, not after Kuroo denied his previous assumption of them being an item.

“Shit I shouldn’t have said that, forget I—” Oikawa yanks him back down onto the sofa before Kuroo can bolt.

“Too late. But even if you didn’t say that, I know.”

Sato and Kuroo turn to him. Kuroo’s unadulterated shock temporarily freezes him, his eyes and jaw wide. “You know?” He asks faintly, his eyebrows creasing with worry.

Oikawa shifts. He lets go of Kuroo. “Hindsight is 20/20. Ever since I started dating Iwa-chan, there were a lot of romantic signs which I previously brushed off as platonic, given our close friendship…and then I started noticing them with you and Pudding-kun.”

And he’d accidentally let that slip to Akaashi, who was obviously displeased to hear his friend accused of infidelity, although Oikawa had been right on the money.

Sato pushes down a few choice words threatening to rise. Getting indignant would just make the situation worse. “So…you like Kenma—” Kuroo flinches. “But you’re dating Tsukishima..?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “I _liked_ Kenma up until my senior year of high school, and that’s when I met Tsukki. Just to make it clear, I have never strayed from Tsukki the whole time we were together.” To drive home his point, he levels his roommates a chilling stare.

“I see.” Sato feels bad for doubting Kuroo just now.

“Oh, the missed opportunities. You must have melt so bad when he confessed, because you both actually liked each other at one point.”

“Kenma said he liked me since my freshman year. For me it was way earlier. He was my first real crush. So when he confessed I just…ran away with my tail between my legs because I didn’t know what to say. I’ve always thought it was unrequited, and I’ve made my peace with it, even moved on to someone else, but…I…I still…” Kuroo wrings his hands in frustration.

“I get it though. Once you like someone it’s hard to go back to the way it was before. Cliché, but true,” Oikawa says empathetically.

“Did you tell him? That you liked him before?” Sato asks. From Kenma’s perspective, it was radio silence from Kuroo since that day that he straight up bolted from the restaurant they were in. He could only imagine how bad Kenma felt for the past week.

Kuroo smiles self-depreciatingly. “Why should I? It would only hurt even more for him if he knows. It’s better this way.”

Sato would beg to differ, but he holds back his unsolicited opinions. “You mean it’s better that you’re ignoring him—”

“Of course not. But we all have an exam to pass, so can we drop this for now, or forever, that would be great!”

Kuroo barrels past Sato and into his room, slamming the door behind him.

*

Their last paper flies by in a blur of hand cramps and too-small fonts, and when they step out of the hall it is with a weight off their shoulders. Their grades for the semester wouldn’t be out until January, so they have a week to blissfully enjoy their vacation.

With the promise of lazy days ahead, and also a short trip to Sendai, Miyagi to see his boyfriend, Kuroo’s metaphorical thundercloud vaporizes; he’s not happy, but he’s no longer scowling and snapping at everyone, which is an improvement.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are returning to Sendai the day after, so Kuroo moves forward his plans with his boyfriend so he could ride the Shinkansen with them, much to Oikawa’s delight (“I get to harass Blondie-kun!”).

As for Sato, he leaves the same day but for Nagano. With everyone busy preparing to leave the dorms for the winter holidays, the cracks in Kuroo and Kenma’s friendship get sidelined in favour of more pressing issues, such as their remaining dirty laundry, or the disappearance of Oikawa’s return Shinkansen ticket, or Kuroo’s first-world-problem of not being able to fit his shoes into his luggage.

(“Crappykawa, I have our e-tickets saved, we can go print it later. Also Kuroo, you’re only there for a few days, you don’t need two pairs of shoes” Iwaizumi states, and that was the end of that.)

Sato is hit with a wave of nostalgia as he opens his luggage to pack. To think that four months ago, he stepped into Tokyo and it’s blistering summer heat, brimming with excitement at what the bustling city has to offer. Now, it’s as if it’s his second home.

And his roommates: somehow, they’ve evolved from ‘weird volleyball nerds’ to two of his closest friends in university. Perhaps that room allocation quiz has done him good after all.

He laughs at Kuroo’s sarcastic remark towards Oikawa, who sticks his tongue out at him like a grade schooler.

With everyone packed and ready to go, they pile into a taxi for Tokyo station, where they will board the Shinkansen.

Sato is the first to separate from the group. After brief hugs and fervent promises to talk lots, he heads towards his train bound to Nagano. It was time to go home.

*

_18 th December_

**Hohohoe Christmas is coming! (3)**

**Kuroo T.**

*image1.jpg* [19:35]

_On the Shinkansen, Iwaizumi is fast asleep, head on Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa and Kuroo are flashing peace signs at the camera._

_*_ image2.jpg* [19:41]

_Iwaizumi’s face now has an ink moustache and beard._

**Sato Y.**

…I feel sorry for Iwaizumi. [19:47]

**Oikawa T.**

It’s a good look on him!

Maybe I should try getting him to grow out his beard? [19:48]

**Kuroo T.**

If he doesn’t kill you first. [19:48]

**Oikawa T.**

I’ll just say it was your idea ( ・∇・) [19:49]

**Kuroo T.**

Oikawa Tooru you snake. [19:49]

*

_19 th December_

_Private chat_

**Kozume K.**

Kuro called me to apologize.

He says he’s ready to make it up to me when he returns to Tokyo. [02:44]

**Sato Y.**

Are you okay? [09:36]

**Kozume K.**

I’m glad that he’s talking to me again [12:40]

*

_21 st December_

**Hohohoe Christmas is coming! (3)**

**Oikawa T.**

Dinner date with the boyfriend!

*image3.jpg* [17:50]

_Oikawa and Iwaizumi at a family restaurant._

**Kuroo T.**

Dinner date with the boyfriend! (2)

*image4.jpg* [18:11]

_A candid of Tsukishima eating strawberry cake at a fancier-looking restaurant._

**Sato Y.**

Not with my girlfriend now [18:14]

**Oikawa T.**

Noooo why’d you break the chain Σ(‘◉⌓◉‘) [18:16]

**Kuroo T.**

Bokuto and Akaashi are also on a date.

Damn we were *this* close to having a quadruple date all in different locations [18:32]

*****

_23 rd December _

_Private chat_

**Oikawa T.**

So I heard through the Miyagi grapevine [15:54]

**Sato Y.**

Miyagi grapevine lol.

But yeah what’s up? [15:57]

**Oikawa T.**

I have a lot of friends ; )

Kuro-chan and Tsukishima got into a small fight

Don’t take my word for it

But also don’t be surprised if he goes mia in the gc [16:00]

*

_24 th December _

**Hohohoe Christmas is coming! (3)**

**Kuroo T.**

So I’m going back to Tokyo today [19:38]

**Oikawa T.**

Safe trip and don’t do drugs [19:38]

**Kuroo T.**

And Kenma’s meeting me at Tokyo station so we can grab a late dinner

Why am I so nervous [19:38]

**Oikawa T.**

Well maybe

Just maybe

You ignored him for two weeks after he poured his heart out to you? [19:39]

**Sato Y.**

Smh Kenma is too good to you

Have a safe trip back : ) [19:40]

**Oikawa T.**

^ [19:40]

**Kuroo T.**

Wow thanks for the support friends

But yeah I realize I’m in the wrong.

Gonna buy him a ginormous apple pie tonight. [19:44]

*

_27 th December _

**Kuroo buy us apple pie too (3)**

**Kuroo T.**

So Kenma made a YouTube channel

<https://www.youtube.com/c/Kodzuken>

Go subscribe!!¡! [13:03]

**Oikawa T.**

Wow he’s ranked in the top 100 in the server for pubg pc

And he’s supreme master for CS:GO.

What

I am s h o o k

Liked and subscribed! [13:48]

**Sato Y.**

How does he have 7 kills with shotgun

Liked and subscribed (2) [14:12]

**Kuroo T.**

Ikr he’s so good

So good he could go pro

He streams on twitch sometimes

Same username

But I finally convinced him to start a YouTube channel!

I even helped design his logo and cover [14:19]

**Oikawa T.**

So Kuro-chan is capable of being a good friend after all [14:32]

**Kuroo T.**

I was wrong okay

Can we move onnn [14:35]

*

_28 th December_

_Private chat_

**Kozume K.**

Hello, I recently created a gaming channel on Youtube.

<https://www.youtube.com/c/Kodzuken>

Please check it out, if you don’t mind, and subscribe if you like my content. [01:13]

*

_1 st January _

**New year, same ol’ me (3)**

**_*_ ** _Oikawa changed the group name to ‘New year, same ‘ol me’*_

**Oikawa T.**

Happy new year friends (*≧∀≦*) [00:00]

**Sato Y.**

Happy new year! [00:07]

**Kuroo T.**

Sorry was helping Kenma with his new video

Happy new year too guys

And peace out [04:45]

**Oikawa T.**

You know to to design

AND edit videos??

What.

You should have volunteered to be in the production team for teacher’s day then! [08:35]

**Sato Y.**

Maybe the video would have turned out better lol [10:22]

**Oikawa T.**

^

They did not give a flying duck and it showed [11:19]

**Sato Y.**

Should I work on a marketable skill too…? [11:21]

**Kuroo T.**

Sorry to burst your bubble but I can’t edit, Kenma does it all by himself :’)

#stankenma

I run through to check for errors, and then I upload it with the hashtags and descriptions and stuff.

I *helped* design his logo, but Akane-chan did most of the work.

She’s a kouhai from Nekoma.

Also

Posting the new video in 30 min, you both better be the first like/comment! [17:33]

**Oikawa T.**

Let me guess

You woke up just to post his video (*’▽’*) [17:54]

**Kuroo T.**

…

Don’t judge me bitch

Video’s up!! [18:08]

*

_3 rd January _

_Private chat_

**Sato Y.**

I didn’t know you play Dota2

We should play together someday

If you want [13:27]

**Kozume K.**

Only came back for the new arcade games

Haven’t played a multiplayer battle in a long time

But okay, we can play.

I usually go mid though. [14:04]

**Sato Y.**

Yeah is tonight good? [14:45]

**Kozume K.**

Sure.

10pm?

Do you mind if I stream our game on twitch? [14:53]

**Sato Y.**

No go ahead. [14:58]

*

_4 th January _

**New year, same ol’ me (3)**

**Sato Y.**

@kuroo is there a game that Kenma is bad at

He hasn’t been on dota2 for three. Years.

And it’s like he hasn’t left. [02:20]

**Kuroo T.**

Ah Dota2

I remember that.

He says he’s better at first person shooters but tbh he’s good at everything

But he’ll stop playing if he gets bored.

Why you asking though [02:22]

Oh I seeeee

You were playing with him just now!

<https://www.twitch.tv/Kodzuken>

Here’s the link in case you want to watch it [02:30]

**Oikawa T.**

I’ve never played a multiplayer battle before

But I believe Kuro-chan when he says that Kodzuken is good at every game. [10:43]

*

_5 th January _

**Quitting law to become a pro vball player (3)**

**Sato Y.**

Sem 1 grades are out

And also our sem 2 schedule. [18:04]

**Kuroo T.**

NO

I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS

HOW DID I GET A B FOR CONTRACTS [18:50]

_*Kuroo changed the group name to ‘Quitting law to become a pro vball player’*_

**Sato Y.**

Are you okay… [18:55]

**Oikawa T.**

That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea

Screw law school

Never wanted to become a lawyer anyway hmph [19:01]

**Kuroo T.**

Just Asian parent tings amirite [19:05]

**Oikawa T.**

Who made it such that you need a degree to get a job

V league players don’t need to go to uni [19:06]

**Kuroo T.**

Ikr

Pretty sure we’re both good enough to make at least division 2

You can earn a stable income from that alone if you’re a starter [19:07]

**Oikawa T.**

Where do I hand in my withdrawal

You watch me I’m joining the league

And I’m going to beat everybody [19:08]

**Kuroo. T**

^ [19:08]

**Sato Y.**

youneedtocalmdown.mp3

Besides we already paid tuition for sem2

Might as well stay [19:09]

**Kuroo T.**

Fuck. [19:09]

**Oikawa T.**

**(c”** **ತ,_ತ)** [19:09]

*

_7 th January _

**Quitting law to become a pro vball player (3)**

**Kuroo T.**

What time are you two coming back?

I’m already in dorm

By myself.

All alone [13:53]

**Oikawa T.**

Well we’re sorry mister Tokyoite

Some of us have to travel all the way from the boonies.

To get an education some of us don’t even want/need [14:32]

**Sato Y.**

Don’t tell me you’re still salty from that C+ you got in torts…

My Shinkansen’s scheduled to arrive at 5. [14:47]

**Oikawa T.**

Maybe.

But I really had no intention to come to law in the first place too [14:56]

**Kuroo T.**

Can relate

But also am not sure that I want to go pro all that much tho

Unlike Bokuto

So parents suggested college

And then I got an offer here

So yay me. [15:07]

**Sato Y.**

If the waitlist people could hear you both right now. [15:08]

**Oikawa T.**

Anyways

Iwa-chan and I have arrived

Are we getting dinner somewhere together? [18:26]

**Kuroo T.**

Yeah ok

Kenma’s with me too

Meet at Hachiko statue at 7? [18:29]

**Sato Y.**

Ok. [18:30]

**Oikawa T.**

Ok!

See you guys [18:30]

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not comprehending that Haikyuu ended uwu. On the hunt right now for new series to get addicted to and more 2D guys to simp over.


	14. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When your boy—ex-boyfriend tells you straight to your face that he doesn’t think you actually love him, it makes you reflect on yourself, y’know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back after taking a week off to plan this fic’s ending (and maybe I also started another haikyuu fic, so go check it out after!) . I can say with certainty now that this fic will be completed, yay :D
> 
> Enjoy!

The winter ice begins to melt, leaving behind pools of water in the troughs along the ground. Grass peeks through the cracks in the cement, and trees shake remnants of snow off its branches to for new leaves to grow. Seasons change; people change.

A semester and some more has passed since the college freshmen matriculated last August, and it is an understatement to say that they’ve already adapted to the rigors of higher education: no—it’s only been half a year, and some people already want to get their degree over and done with and graduate.

Sato drags his feet through the cobblestoned path leading up to his dormitory. He’s just got off work, and although the wants nothing more than to curl up in bed under his thick, cozy duvet, he has a case analysis due in less than 24 hours that he hasn’t even _started._

He isn’t expecting his roommates to be in—as far as he knows, Oikawa is with Iwaizumi, and Kuroo is at work too—so when the door shuts safely behind him, he lets out a long, suffering groan.

“Mood.”

Sato’s head jerks up. Here is Kuroo, sprawled on their sofa with his legs dangling and looking like he’s midway through the 7 stages of grief. There are sheets of paper scattered messily around him like a summoning pentagon, but it doesn’t look like he’d been using them for a while.

“Rough day too?”

Kuroo grunts, his eyes heavily lidded and trained on the ceiling, as if he expects to find life’s answers written on there. “Why is life so complicated.”

Sato is taken aback by such a philosophical question. “It doesn’t have to be?” He shrugs off his coat and puts it on the coffee table, and heads to the kitchen to make himself hot tea. “You want tea?”

“Yes please.”

Hojicha green tea is possibly the only thing aligning the three roommates’ taste buds together, so much so that Kuroo kindly brought over his grandfather’s old Kyusu teapot and declared it open for communal use.

They make light conversation about their growing workload, a particular classmate that grates in everyone’s nerves, their extracurriculars, so on, so forth. They’ve grown closer in the six months they’ve been living, eating, studying together, so Sato likes to think that they’re very open with each other.

“You good?” Sato asks, when Kuroo has gotten some caffeine in him.

“Not really, but nothing time can’t heal.”

“Hm, so this is about Tsukishima-san.”

Kuroo chuckles. “When your boy— _ex-boyfriend_ tells you straight to your face that he doesn’t think you actually love him, it makes you reflect on yourself, y’know?”

*

When Kuroo told his roommates that he had split with his boyfriend of a little under a year, of course Sato and Oikawa were going to talk about it. If Sato was asked whether he had been surprised, he would have said: no.

Sato had asked Oikawa—privately, of course— when he realized Kuroo and Tsukishima were not okay, and received an unexpected answer.

_“_ Since Kuro-chan’s birthday,” Oikawa had said, and that was way longer than Sato had noticed. “Remember Kuro-chan told us it was about some jealousy issues? Well I happen to know that Blondie-kun has a childhood best friend too, Karasuno’s pinch server— and they’re both accusing the other for neglecting them for their respective childhood friends.”

“Long distance relationships are hard. It’s natural to feel like your partner is being neglectful.” It’s hard, but nothing that can’t be fixed with communicating their feelings. Both Kuroo and Tsukishima aren’t particularly spectacular in that regard though.

“I had three girlfriends in high school. I guess four including middle school. They all dumped me because I spent too much time on volleyball, and if I wasn’t practicing, I was with Iwa-chan.”

Without Oikawa explicitly saying what he was getting at; Sato understood nonetheless. “Tsukishima-san and the pinch server may be truly platonic. Not _all_ childhood friends have to be in love with each other.”

Oikawa quirked a smile. “True that.”

Oikawa and his sharp eyes and ‘Miyagi grapevine’ aside, Kuroo and Tsukishima’s crumbling romance had only been made obvious in January, after they returned from the winter holidays.

The second week of January had been the Spring Nationals, held at Kanagawa. Since the first match landed on a weekend, naturally, both Oikawa and Sato had assumed that Kuroo would be going over to cheer Tsukishima on.

But he didn’t. He had work, he said.

“Can’t you reschedule? Claim an emergency?” Oikawa had asked. “I mean, this is _nationals_. Pretty sure he would appreciate his boyfriend’s support.”

“My student has her high school entrance exams next month. I can’t do her dirty like that,” he had replied, too nonchalantly, and left them both in the dust as they tried to get over their shock.

Oikawa shot a judgmental look at Kuroo’s back. “He’s acting like the kid would flunk all her exams just because he took one day off.”

“…Maybe he needs the money?” Sato suggested, even though Kuroo’s net worth is probably double his own; that man is a capitalist to his core.

But when Kenma had declared his attendance—because one of his closest friends is also on the starting roster for Karasuno—Kuroo did a complete 180 and decided he was going after all: so sudden it gave the two roommates whiplash.

“Kenma has never been to Kanagawa,” Kuroo had said as he texted his student. “I can’t let him go by himself, much less spend a night there at some dingy motel!”

His roommates tactfully don’t point out his hypocrisy (to his face), lest they trigger one of his moods.

“He’s acting like Pudding-kun is a child that needs to be supervised,” Oikawa said to Sato, bewildered.

Sato agreed. “Pretty sure Kenma knows how to use Google Maps, or Trivago.”

“I know right? I bet Kuro-chan has never been to Kanagawa too.”

“Maybe he’s just overprotective. Even Bokuto says he has a soft spot for Kenma.”

“Iwa-chan has not one romantic bone in his body and even he knows that you have to go support your boyfriend at _nationals_ ,” Oikawa emphasized. “I know Karasuno also went last year, but still…”

“Is it a childhood friend thing?” Sato asked, and received a flat stare in response.

Ultimately, Kuroo’s relationship was none of their business, and him being a bad boyfriend didn’t mean that he was a bad friend or a bad roommate. So even though they griped about it out of earshot, it didn’t affect their dynamics. 

Spring Nationals came and went with Karasuno’s loss to the Hyōgo powerhouse school: Inarizaki. Perhaps it was because Nekoma wasn’t taking part, but to an onlooker, it was as if the Spring Nationals weren’t the main agenda of Kuroo and Kenma’s trip. They came back from what Oikawa dubbed as their ‘Kanagawa honeymoon’ with a definite shift in the air around them into this weird-but-not-really sexual tension. At one point it culminated in Kenma storming off in what Kuroo thought was anger, but was obvious to Sato and Oikawa that it was embarrassment. 

Valentines Day came, and Oikawa and Sato were not surprised to hear that Kuroo and Tsukishima would not be spending it with each other, the both of them being ‘too lazy’ to travel. While that in itself wasn’t necessarily a red flag, when compared to the previous year—when Tsukishima had travelled to Tokyo for Kuroo’s birthday and Kuroo to Sendai for Christmas—this change should have been a clear sign of the deterioration of their relationship.

Sato had almost felt bad leaving Kuroo alone in their flat as he and Oikawa headed out for their respective dates, but his girlfriend had been stressed, and he had enough money saved for a quick trip back to Nagano. Kuroo himself had reassured them that he was just busy with work and co-managing Kenma’s steadily-growing Youtube channel, and had waved them off with a ‘practice safe sex, kiddos!’

Then, just a week later, seemingly out of the blue,Tsukishima broke up with Kuroo.

*

“—and he said, in his monotonous voice, ‘Kuroo-san, I don’t think we should do this anymore.’ So I asked ‘what d’ya mean’ and he just flat out said ‘we should break up’!” Kuroo took another large gulp of Old Fashioned after his fifth rendition of his recent (and probably the last) Skype call with his ex-boyfriend.

“I’m sorry, I can only imagine how bad you feel.” Sato said, also for the fifth time in the hour. He sounded even more repetitive than this playlist of the same ten songs blasting through this seedy bar.

“Right? You can’t just spring it up like that! There was literally no warning. I tried to ask him why and he just said ‘you’re smart, figure it out for yourself’? Like, what’s that supposed to mean? How am I supposed to fix it if you don’t _tell me_ what the fuck is wrong?!” Kuroo ended his tirade and drained the glass. And reached for another. “Hey, excuse me, can I get another three glasses of Old Fashioned? No wait, two Old Fashioned and a Manhattan, yes thank you.”

Sato warily eyed the growing number of empty glasses on their table.

“So anyways, can y’all help me decide if I should block him on social media? Like I don’t want to see his grouchy mug ever again, but if he finds out that I blocked him he’s gonna know how affected I am!” The empty glass flew out of Kuroo’s grasp with his wild gesturing, and luckily, Iwaizumi with his god reflexes caught it before it smashed to smithereens on the floor. “Oops!” he said, then burst out into giggles.

“Okay, That’s it for you. And you too,” Iwaizumi directed a stern glare to his boyfriend, who had unfortunately been roped into a drink too many by his heartbroken friend. “Let’s get out of here. Kuroo, can you even _walk?”_

_“_ Hah? Of course I can! I’ll show you right now—”

“Iwa-chan you party pooper!”

“Excuse me…could we get the bill please? Cancel our latest order too,” Sato flagged down the same waitress, leaving Iwaizumi to control the two overgrown children in their company. Kuroo, the Talk Everyone’s Ears Off Drunk, was trying but failing to stand, only managing to do so with Iwaizumi’s steady grip on his shoulder, while Oikawa, the Giggly-Clingy Drunk, was practically latched onto Iwaizumi’s other arm.

The bill came, and Sato winced at the hit.

The bar they were at was a twenty-minute walk to their dorm, so thankfully, Iwaizumi did the smart thing and called for a cab. He all but dumped the two drunkards into the back seat before squeezing in as well, leaving Sato to the passenger seat. The driver glanced worriedly through the rearview window, but was slightly placated when Sato told him their destination.

The drive should have only taken under ten minutes, five without traffic. But it had been the most anxious five minutes of Sato’s short life. And probably the driver’s too:

  1. Kuroo would not stop talking. He ranted about Tsukishima—not even caring that no one was paying attention: how cute his pout was, how Tsundere he was, and how ungrateful he was to dump ‘the best volleyball mentor to ever exist’.



  1. Horny Drunk Oikawa had officially entered the chat. Sato could only watch in mute horror through the rearview mirror as Oikawa groped Iwaizumi’s _everywhere_ , despite the latter’s fierce protests. If it were up to Oikawa, no doubt Iwaizumi would already be naked and pressed against the window.



  1. Kuroo would not stop talking, part 2. Except that instead of Tsukishima, it was now Kenma: how cute he was when he concentrated on a game, how clever he was that he solved a tricky mystery game, how skilled he was with his hands, how _pretty_ his hands were, how pretty _he_ was—



The car pulled up to their dorm before the two gay crises in the backseat could escalate. Practically dying of second-hand embarrassment, Sato shoved his cash and mortified apologies at the driver and quickly helps Iwaizumi lug the two deadweights out.

“You smell so good. I wanna eat you,” Oikawa slurred. Loud enough for everyone within a 5 feet radius to hear.

“Shut up!” Iwaizumi’s whole face was flaming. Steam practically bursted out of his ears when Oikawa sloppily kissed him. But even with both of Oikawa’s hands rendered immobile in between Iwaizumi’s own, Oikawa somehow still had the upper hand. “Shittykawa I swear to God—”

“But Iwa-chan…”

For the sake of preserving any last morsel of sanctity in his and Oikawa’s friendship, Sato pretended not to see the tent forming in Oikawa’s pants. Instead, he turned to help their other incapacitated charge, currently leaning heavily against the wall, safely up to their room.

“—went to Kanagawa, me and Kenma slept on a double because the nearest hotel didn’t have two singles, and we didn’t wanna waste money with two hotel rooms. Makes sense, right? We sleep in the same bed during sleepovers anyway, so it’s no big deal, right? Right?”

Sato didn’t know if he preferred this to Oikawa’s spiel about the firmness of Iwaizumi’s ass.

“Don’t tell him I told you, but Kenma _purrs_ when he sleeps. Like a cute little cat, and he’s a blanket hogger as well. Sometimes at night I’ll wake up cold and it’s because that rascal has wrapped himself into a blanket burrito—”

Just a little more until they reach room 313, Sato thought.

“But the second night was weird. So weird…Argh! I’m going insane just thinking about it! He was so cute!”

Sato sighed, obliging him even though he has heard this the third time already. “What happened?”

Kuroo grinned as if he had been waiting all night to tell them this. “He was _cuddling_ me! Sato, he cuddled me! Like full on spooning! I only realized because I needed to pee but then I couldn’t because he was holding me and I didn’t want to disturb him. But believe me when I say that my heart literally went _doki-doki_ —what does this mean? Am I really that touch starved that—”

“Sato, could you open the door?” Iwaizumi ground out, rather breathlessly. Sato tuned out the rest of Kuroo’s gushing to fish out his key card, pointedly not looking at Oikawa lapping at Iwaizumi’s neck like a ravenous vampire.

The door opened with a ‘beep’, and Sato shoved Kuroo in.

Oikawa seemed to have enough awareness to realize they’re inside, and he began pawing at Iwaizumi’s clothes. Kuroo tripped over his own shoes and fell so loudly to the floor it might have woken the residents below them.

Iwaizumi’s gaze briefly met Sato’s with shared pain and a unanimous agreement: _never let these two drink themselves to oblivion ever again._

*

Snow segues into rain. Coats are replaced for jumpers. Leaves begin to grow and flowers begin to bud. Seasons change; people change.

It takes Kuroo exactly three weeks to move on from Tsukishima. He doesn’t explicitly say it, but both Sato and Oikawa notices the change in his disposition. He’s more sharp, more productive, less moody. He also doesn’t bring his ex up every five minutes anymore, rather, he doesn’t at all.

This is a good thing, for they have a mock criminal trial competition coming up with Kuroo and Oikawa partnering up as the prosecution for a second-degree murder charge and Sato volunteering as their witness. With the trial day nearing, no one has time to play counselor (only counsels) for anyone. Even Kuroo seemed so busy that he hasn’t the time to mope, which is a good thing for their team.

(“Objection, your Honor!” Kuroo says with a flourish. “Do I sound cool yet?”

“Overruled,” Oikawa snaps. “Sit the hell down, attourney.”

“Do that again and I resign,” Sato adds. “And you’ll have to find a new key witness.”

“Jeez, lighten up guys…”)

But it doesn’t last. The more tightly one suppresses their emotions, the harder it springs back at the most unexpected of times.

Sato sits in their living room, running through his role as the Deceased’s brother when Kuroo bursts through their door, back from a last-minute meeting with his other witness.

“Hey, Oikawa told me to tell you that… ” Sato’s statement dies as Kuroo breezes past without even acknowledging him.

“—no no no, this can’t be happening. No fucking way I can’t believe this—” Kuroo lets out a strangled sound and, before Sato could call out to him, he bolts into his room and slams the door.

It takes Sato a few seconds to process this turn of events, but once he does, his hand flies to his phone, bringing up his private chat with Oikawa.

_‘I think Kuroo has officially lost it.’_ He texts, and ten seconds later, Oikawa comes out of his own room with a crazed gleam in his eye. He looks in need of a hug and a good night’s sleep, and maybe a caffeine detox.

“What happened?”

“He just came in muttering gibberish and went into his room. Maybe all the fumes from his axe body spray finally got to him.” Sato says solemnly.

“The night before the case and my partner has a breakdown? We have no time for an existential crisis!” Oikawa screeches. He seems torn between ignoring Kuroo and going back to practice his speech, and being a good friend. Sato would not have faulted him for choosing the former. But to his surprise, Oikawa lets out a groan, stomps over to Kuroo’s room and wretches the door open.

“Kuroo Tetsurou!”

Curious, Sato gets up from the sofa and follows Oikawa.

“Is this about Tsukishima again? You better save your brooding for after the trial or so help me if you mess up our opening statement I will murder your ass.”

Kuroo lets out a pitiful groan.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you? Are you actually having a life crisis?”

Kuroo looks up at them, panic-stricken. “I think I’m falling for Kenma again.”


	15. hopeless idiots in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know what you’re talking about? And Kuro-chan, shouldn’t you get your own love life in order before meddling with mine?”
> 
> “This isn’t about me-”
> 
> Sato has neither the time nor patience to play mind games. In his opinion, both his roommates are equally as bad at romance anyway.

“I think I’m falling for Kenma again,” Kuroo looks like he got the rug pulled out from under him; as if he just had a life-altering revelation. Unfortunately, Oikawa is not in the most sympathetic of moods.

“Great, but can we go over our direct examination? I think that part’s still shaky.”

“Oikawa, seriously?” Kuroo snaps.

“Come on,” Oikawa says, more gently this time. “It’s so obvious, me and Sato knew a long time coming. It’s hardly news.”

Sato nods in agreement.

“Besides, this time you _know_ Pudding-kun returns your feelings, what’re you so scared of?”

“But I rejected him, oh why the hell did I do that, I’m so stupid.”

“You had a boyfriend at the time,” Sato reminds him. “I don’t think Kenma-san was expecting reciprocation when he told you.” Kenma hadn’t even planned to confess that day; it slipped out because Kuroo had been extra-attentive to him that day.

“Right,” Kuroo says dejectedly, as if he hadn’t spent the past three weeks moping about said ex-boyfriend. “But I can’t just go to him and be like ‘oh apparently I like you now, haha, let’s date’! What kind of person am I if I do that?!”

“A pretty fickle one.”

“Now you see why I’m panicking?”

“Touché.”

Kuroo sighs. “Look, _I_ know I like Kenma for real, _you_ guys know I liked him for a long while until I met Tsukishima, but _he_ doesn’t. If I tell him now, he’s so gonna think he’s a rebound when he’s not!”

At Kuroo’s growing distress, Sato racks his brain for something appropriate to say. Oikawa beats him to it.

“Blo—Tsukishima-kun never told you why he broke up with you, right?”

“Yeah, he told me to ‘figure it…out...’” Kuroo stills momentarily, and Sato could almost hear the Windows Error sound effect accompany the short-circuiting of his brain.

“Congratulations for finally figuring it out,” Oikawa says, and Kuroo looks at him dumbly. “Obviously, Tsukishima-kun knew, but he didn’t want to say it because you’d deny it. And this…it’s something you can’t fix.”

“Gee, thanks. Makes me feel so much better that my _ex_ knew that I liked someone else even before I did myself,” Kuroo snaps.

“No wait, that wasn’t the point. You and Tsukishima-kun didn’t work out because you liked Pudding-kun all this time. I think he’ll understand that he’s not a rebound if you tell him that.”

“Though you might want to wait? To make it more believable,” Sato adds. Oikawa’s idea has merit, and if anything, Kuroo as the both of them plus Bokuto to back him up in case Kenma doesn’t believe him.

“I have a feeling he would still think I’m dating him out of pity,” Kuroo says dejectedly. “Back then I lied to him that I couldn’t see him that way because- because…”

“You had Tsukishima-kun,” Oikawa finishes. “And you’re a coward.”

“…I feel like I’ve hit a new low to hear _Oikawa_ call me a coward.”

“Excuse you.”

“Fight me. It took you being drunk out of your mind for you to get together with Iwaizumi,” Kuroo retorts.

“Well at least I—”

“Order in the court,” Sato says dryly before this banter turns into a real spat. “Just give it time, Kuroo.”

“Speaking of courts. If we can _please_ run through our direct examination, I’ll buy you dinner,” Oikawa bargains with Kuroo. “The trial is _tomorrow._ ”

But Kuroo shakes his head. “You don’t have to, it’s what I’m supposed to do anyway. Sorry for bringing up my personal problems.”

Oikawa smiles, relieved. He gathers the sheaf of papers on Kuroo’s desk and joins him on his bed, dumping them onto the taller man’s lap. “So I was thinking we start with forensics about the state of the body rather than the officer at the scene, because to prove beyond reasonable doubt that…”

Seeing Oikawa and Kuroo enter work mode, Sato excuses himself from Kuroo’s room.

* * *

The next evening sees the three roommates step out from the School of Law with a spring in their step.

“Now Erika-chan can Rest In Peace, knowing that her killer is serving justice.”

“Amen,” Kuroo choruses.

“You guys do realize that this is a fictional case, right…?”

Kuroo lets out an affronted gasp. “Don’t you dare disrespect Erika-chan!”

The jury (consisting of their upperclassmen) declared the defendant guilty, and the evaluators awarded the prosecution higher points, advancing the Oikawa-Kuroo duo up to next round in this competition. For someone who said they only signed up for the bonus credits, they sure put a lot of effort into this, especially Oikawa. Thinking back to the lengths they went through to build a solid argument, it was unlikely that they would have lost, in Sato’s opinion.

“Erika-chan aside, what do you want for dinner?”

“Ramen?”

“It’s in the other direction though? I’m too lazy to walk back.”

“Then we’re only left with sushi or delivery.”

“Sushi sounds good,” Kuroo says. The other two agree.

Makino’s Sushi is their go-to whenever they’re up for a quick Japanese meal, it being only five minutes away from their dorm. The food isn’t the best, but it’s decently good for the price, and as a broke college student, Sato can’t complain.

“I’m gonna go over to the Life Sciences building for a bit, Iwa-chan said he’s studying there,” Oikawa tells them when they reach the restaurant. “I can eat whatever.”

“Alright, a dozen cucumber sushi coming right up.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “I’ll just steal your food then.”

“Please, you don’t eat fast enough to keep up with me,” Kuroo retorts. “We’ll get the sushi platter set to share, that okay?”

Oikawa skips off, and Kuroo and Sato order the largest sushi platter the restaurant has to offer. It’s not quite dinner time rush, so their order shouldn’t take long. The pair loiter in front of the restaurant, laughing at funny cat videos are they wait for their order, which leads to a story from Kuroo about the cute stray that always come by his home for food.

It’s probably only been ten minutes. Their food isn’t even done yet, but apparently Oikawa is. He returns to the restaurant, noticeably Iwaizumi-less. When asked, Oikawa smiles and tells them that Iwaizumi is concentrating, and that he doesn’t want to disturb him, knowing that the latter has a project due soon.

Kuroo pretends to be surprised at Oikawa’s consideration, earning him a pout and a whiny protest, in that order. It’s all in good jest, the victory of the mock trial still fresh that endorphins are still running through their veins.

“Thank you for waiting. That will be ¥3450,” the employee tells them, handing over a large plastic bag with an assortment of sushi that makes Sato’s mouth water.

Kuroo pulls out a sleek silver credit card out of his wallet, handing it to the employee. Sato gapes. “We will pay by card please.”

“Understood. If you will please wait a moment…”

“Don’t worry, it’s my treat today, as thanks for uh, dealing with my shit the past month.”

“Since when did you get a credit card?” Sato blurts. His mind has trouble connecting Dork Kuroo, who not even 24 hours ago was having the biggest romantic crisis of his life, with Financially Savvy Kuroo and his credit card. At age 19. Next to him, Oikawa seems to mirror his thoughts, looking at Kuroo in shock.

“Since December…?” Kuroo trails off, looking between his two roommates in confusion, as if being qualified for what is essentially a bottomless wallet is something mundane. “Have you not seen me use it before?”

“Um. No?” Oikawa says. “Wait, is it yours, or a secondary?”

The employee returns with Kuroo’s card and the receipt.

“Account’s under my name. Kenma has his own too.” Kuroo smirks, a proud glint in his eyes. Amused, he hands Oikawa the card, who looks at him in awe.

It turns out Kuroo and Kenma have invested in dividend stocks and bonds since Kuroo’s first year of high school. With recent expansions to their portfolio, Kenma’s income from Twitch and Kuroo’s tutoring job, they manage to apply for a credit card each in the lowest income bracket.

Sato is beyond impressed. He imagines Kuroo and Kenma in a mansion in the near future, rolling around in wads of cash and living the lavish life.

“I owe it to Kenma,” Kuroo says, a fond smile etching on his lips. “He has a keen eye for stocks, got me into the tech companies and Bitcoin last year. My port wouldn’t even be half as decent without him.” Kuroo’s smile fades. “Damn, I really screwed up.”

“You’re a good friend to him too,” Oikawa says, confidently. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

It’s true. A few bad apples doesn’t make the whole barrel bad; it’s evident to anyone with eyes how much Kuroo values Kenma.

At their flat, they spread out their sushi on the coffee table, and the topic of conversation shifts from Kenma’s future plans back to the trial. The excitement from the courtroom is back as they take turns recounting their best moments over mouthfuls of sushi and soda.

“Iwaizumi’s calling,” Sato prompts, seeing Oikawa’s phone light up with the contact name ‘Iwa-chan’.

“Invite him over,” Kuroo tells him as he answers the call. “We have so much food.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa coos as a greeting. Sato pours himself some more coke.

Iwaizumi arrives, and they bombard him with re-enactments of the trial, some of it dramatized for comedic purposes. Iwaizumi seems to be amused by Oikawa’s theatrics, even clapping lightly after his impassioned closing statement.

Soon, with their bellies full and minds sluggish from the food coma, the makeshift celebration comes to and end when Iwaizumi announces that he’s going back to his dorm.

“Already? Stay over?”

Despite Oikawa’s puppy-dog eyes, Iwaizumi shakes his head. He gathers his things and shrugs on his jumper. “Can’t. Meeting with my friend to go over our project tomorrow morning. Presentation’s in the afternoon.”

Oikawa deflates. “Okay, good luck.”

Iwaizumi smiles fondly, reaching over to pet Oikawa’s head. “Thanks. Congrats again on the win…” he gently thumbs Oikawa’s cheeks, and Sato chooses to look away, feeling oddly intrusive. “Sleep early tonight, you look like you’re gonna collapse any second.”

“Yes _mom_ ,” is Oikawa’s reply.

* * *

Sato wouldn’t call himself a busybody; he’s barely able to get a handle on his own business, let alone try and meddle with others’. However, in the case of his roommates and their love lives, he believes that he’s duty-bound to intervene if he feels it going awry—if nothing else but for the sake of peace and harmony in Room 313 (and his sanity).

That is why one afternoon, after their dismissal from a three-hour lecture, Sato nudges Kuroo to direct his attention to Oikawa.

Oikawa is talking to their classmate—a pretty girl with doe-like eyes, high cheekbones and long smooth hair flowing down to her waist, and more importantly, someone whom Sato recognizes as part of Oikawa’s unofficial fan club. Hasekawa, Sato recalls her surname. It isn’t the fact that Oikawa is talking to her that catches his attention, but rather his body language: more flirty, more engaging, more receptive to her advances.

Kuroo notices the same thing, for his mouth dips in a disdainful frown. “What does that idiot think he’s doing?”

Sato agrees. He thinks Oikawa should not be flirting back with his admirers, though he is aware that Oikawa does—his gaggle of fangirls seemingly unaware of his relationship status—but it is usually in groups, in a playful manner. Never one-on-one, and never beyond the parameters of the handsome, well-liked college student.

Oikawa leans in—too close for the typical acquaintanceship— and Hasekawa flusters. Clearly, Oikawa knows what he is doing, and Sato cannot help his irritation on behalf of Iwaizumi.

“What’re they talking about?” Sato wonders aloud to Kuroo, who shrugs.

“We can ask him when he’s done.”

Sato takes his time packing his things, feigning nonchalance, but really, he doesn’t need to. The intensity of Kuroo’s gaze boring holes into Oikawa’s back is enough of a give away.

Finally, Oikawa excuses himself, but not before giving Hasekawa his practiced megawatt smile. Hasekawa’s eyes are practically in the shapes of hearts as she watches Oikawa’s retreating back, smiling dreamily.

“Kuroo! Hasekawa agreed to be…our defendant…” Oikawa falters upon receiving two pairs of unimpressed stares. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Not that I’m not happy that she agreed,” Kuroo begins. “But must you really flirt with her? It’s not like we’re desperate.” Sato recalls Oikawa and Kuroo list potential volunteers for their second mock trial as the defense for a grand theft auto misdemeanor. Hasekawa was one of them.

Oikawa has the decency to laugh sheepishly. “We got her in the end, right? No harm done!”

Kuroo sighs. “You have such a shitty personality.”

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Kuro-chan,” Oikawa says, to which Kuroo calls him a pompous asshole.

Oikawa and Kuroo fall into easy banter, and then Hasekawa is forgotten as the roommates decide what to have for dinner that night.

Other than that display in the lecture hall, Oikawa and Hasekawa behave appropriately when they are working together on the grand theft auto case, so Sato chalks that one-time event as Oikawa really wanting Hasekawa on board and doesn’t think too much of it.

Until today.

Sato is in the middle of preparing fried rice for dinner when Kuroo returns to their room after a meeting regarding the case.

“Where’s Oikawa?”

“He’s with Hasekawa,” Kuroo says. He looks uncomfortable.

At first, Sato does not understand why. “Okay, I’m almost done, just need to fry the sausages…”

“He’s with Hasekawa _alone.”_ Oh.

“Weren’t you in the meeting with the person playing the defendant’s mom, as well?”

“Yeah, and we were leaving after we’re done, but then Hasekawa and Oikawa started talking about the cake shop that just opened, and the next thing I knew Oikawa’s telling me to go back without him since they’re going to the cake shop…”

The pan sizzles as Sato adds in the cooking oil, along with the frankfurters. “Like, all of a sudden?”

Kuroo contemplates. “They did kind of invite us too, but I guess Oikawa knows that I don’t really like dessert? The defendant’s mom chose not to go too, so it ended up being just the two of them.”

This can simply be friends hanging out after a meeting, and Sato knows that they wouldn’t have worried if Hasekawa isn’t crushing on Oikawa. He voices as such, adjusting the heat on the stove.

“Yeah, Maybe we’re overreacting. Oikawa’s too in love with Iwaizumi to spare Hasekawa a glance anyway,” Kuroo says. “Do we have any carrot sticks left? I’m so hungry.”

Kuroo would be right. Anyone who has seen Oikawa and Iwaizumi together would be able to tell. Oikawa is happily in a relationship with his boyfriend after way too much pining. Hasekawa theoretically should not pose a problem.

That’s what Sato thinks, and then Oikawa goes and does something stupid.

Oikawa and Kuroo are at volleyball practice, and Sato is alone in the flat. He’s focused on his lecture notes at the time, so he initially ignores it until he gets twenty something messages in a span of two minutes. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he breaks from studying to read Kuroo’s spam.

_Private chat_

_3 April_

**Kuroo T.**

Sato omg

I knew it

Oikawa’s being an idiot

I should start calling him Idiotkawa now.

So practice ended and guess who came?

Hasekawa Haruna.

She showed up with a goddamn bag of cookies in front of the entire team!

And Oikawa just accepts it RIGHT IN FRONT OF IWAIZUMI

I literally cannot make this shit up. [20:34]

**Sato Y.**

Happy belated April Fool’s? [20:36]

**Kuroo T.**

I’m all for a good joke, but this ain’t funny.

Like if I were Iwaizumi

I would have gone straight up and asked what was his problem [20:37]

**Sato Y.**

Calm down

I don’t think Oikawa meant anything by that.

He probably didn’t want to embarrass her in front of the team. [20:37]

**Kuroo T.**

I guess you’re right.

Got a little too worked up there. [20:38]

Update: I’m walking back with Oikawa and Iwaizumi

And now there’s this weird tense atmosphere between them

Like right now it’s so quiet

SO QUIET

It’s never been so awkward with them before

That’s it I’m staging an intervention when Oikawa and I get back

Back me up here Sato. [21:03]

**Sato Y.**

…How did it even come to this [21:05]

**Kuroo T.**

Update 2: Iwaizumi just texted me

And he’s worried.

He asked me if I noticed Oikawa being weird yesterday

Apparently something was off about him since before practice??

I told him no though because I really didn’t notice.

It’s only me and Oikawa now and the weird tension is still there

Like I can _hear_ him thinking hard about something and ngl it’s giving me a headache

We’ll be back in around five minutes. [21:16]

*

From what Sato garners from Kuroo’s texts, he braces himself for Oikawa’s stormy mood. He has relocated to the living room, his lecture notes out to make it seem like he hadn’t been waiting for them.

Privately, he finds it a little ridiculous that they’re doing this— Oikawa is a grown ass man who should be able to handle his own relationships— but when Sato takes into account that Oikawa and Iwaizumi took _years_ before they got together, he thinks he’d rather intervene before they waste even more time because of some stupid misunderstanding.

Sato hears the door beep, and Oikawa and Kuroo walk in. They take off their shoes, and that’s when it hits Sato that Kuroo isn’t exaggerating; Oikawa is mad (about what, no one has any idea) that it’s radiating out of him in waves of tension, palpable even to Sato.

“Hey, mind if I use the shower first?” Oikawa says. His voice comes out tired and defeated.

Kuroo looks at Sato, who nods. At the green light, he grabs Oikawa by the shoulders and pushes him to sit beside Sato on the sofa, who loops an arm around him despite the sticky sweatiness.

“Alright, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Kuroo squeezes himself down on Oikawa’s other side, likely to prevent his escape.

Oikawa looks at Kuroo in confusion. “Me? Nothing.”

Kuroo levels him an unimpressed stare. “Nice try, but no. Now spill.”

“What? I’m just tired. It’s been a long day and I only slept for like, three hours?”

“I think what Kuroo means to say, what’s up with you and Hasekawa,” Sato clarifies. “I know it’s not our business—”

“Exactly. It’s not,” Oikawa says coldly.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “Hey.” His voice hardens. “We’re your friends, so of course it’s our business. Also, I think you noticed as well, but Iwaizumi is genuinely worried about you, so why don’t you stop being a brat and maybe tell us what’s wrong? So we can do something about it?” 

Oikawa purses his lips. “I’m just tired,” he repeats stubbornly.

“Oikawa. You and Hasekawa,” Kuroo says curtly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about? And Kuro-chan, shouldn’t you get your own love life in order before meddling with mine?”

“This isn’t about me-”

Sato has neither the time nor patience to play mind games. In his opinion, both his roommates are equally as bad at romance anyway. “You’re flirting back with Hasekawa even though before this you’ve never done so. If this is about getting her to work with you, this is unnecessary.”

“We have a hundred other classmates whom we can ask,” Kuroo adds. “It doesn’t _have_ to be Hasekawa.”

“Our of everyone we listed, Hasekawa fits the profile given in the case packet. It doesn’t have to be her, but I _want_ it to be her,” Oikawa insists. It’s believable, but not enough for Kuroo and Sato.

“Yeah okay, let’s pretend we believe you for one second,” Kuroo counters. “Pretty sure she—as well as anyone if we just asked nicely— would be happy to help out without your… _extra attention_. Buying her coffee, going out with her alone _,_ her giving you _homemade_ _cookies_ at practice, flirting and calling her ‘Haruna-chan’…”

“Oikawa, you…why?” Sato manages. He didn’t know it’s this bad, but what’s perplexing is Oikawa’s intention with all this. Surely, he’s not…

“What’s wrong with being friendly to a classmate?” Oikawa asks with faux airiness.

“I don’t know man, _you_ tell us, because me and Sato are under the impression that you’re _dating_ _Iwaizumi_ ,” Kuroo finishes. “But I guess we were mistaken?” Sarcasm drips with his every word. It’s evident in Kuroo’s clenched jaw; if Oikawa continues to play dumb, Kuroo will blow a fuse.

A bead of sweat runs down Oikawa’s temple. The room is silent except for the sounds of breathing. The mention of Iwaizumi’s name seems to do the trick. Oikawa’s lips quiver, his Adam’s apple bobs.

He slumps back onto the sofa and closes his eyes, like all the energy has been drained out of him. “I guess I took it too far today.”

“No shit. You didn’t need to flaunt it to the whole gym…”

Baby steps, Sato tells himself. “We know you have no intention to…court Hasekawa,” Sato says, and Kuroo snorts. “And that maybe you want her to—”

“Hang on a sec,” Kuroo interrupts. “I think I know!”

“Don’t assume you—”

“You’re doing this to make Iwaizumi jealous!” Kuroo declares, oozing confidence as he points at Oikawa to make his point.

It’s a little ridiculous, and Sato turns to Oikawa, waiting for the man to deny it. However, Oikawa just swallows, blinking profusely in shock. His cheeks redden. Guilty.

“Seriously?” Sato lets slip, because _good lord, why._

“Oh my God, Oikawa. Are you in high school?” Kuroo says exasperatedly. “You don’t need to act like some B-grade soap opera heroine, Iwaizumi is already _yours_!”

Oikawa’s whole face flushes, a good and refreshing change from his reticence five minutes prior. He buries his face in his hands and mumbles incoherently.

Kuroo sighs, patting Oikawa on the back. “Look, there are better ways to get his attention without almost cheating on him.”

“‘M not.”

“We know, and luckily Iwaizumi’s more worried than angry at you, especially after that display at the gym. Half the team probably thinks Hasekawa’s your girlfriend now.”

“But I wanted Iwa-chan to get angry…” Oikawa mutters, sounding petulant. “I hate it so much that he’s so calm and rational when I don’t want him to be!”

Sato blinks. “What.”

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one that gets so jealous. Maybe he doesn’t like me as—”

“Stop. Stop right there,” Kuroo says. “Let’s not even go there. Why’re you so jealous in the first place?”

Oikawa gnaws on his lip, face still aflame with embarrassment. “His friend. He’s spending so much time with her. He’s always going over to her dorm and vice versa and—and, I _know_ it’s just normal friend things. I met her and she’s pretty and funny. She can cook well, she doesn’t lose her socks in the dryer and she likes the same action flicks as he does…”

“I’m pretty sure Iwaizumi isn’t looking for housewife-like qualities when he agreed to date you,” Kuroo tells him bluntly. “And someone actually likes Godzilla as much as he does? That’s rarer than a steak.”

“I know right? I mean, the graphics are great but the plot—”

“So you’re scared that Iwaizumi will fall for her?” Sato brings them back to the issue at hand.

Oikawa panics, bursting into a flurry of babbles. Jackpot.

“Has he done anything to make you suspect him?” Sato asks. He’s relieved when Oikawa shakes his head vehemently.

“Of course he hasn’t. Iwaizumi only has eyes for you. So you can stop leading Hasekawa on already, it’s getting annoying to watch.”

“But why isn’t Iwa-chan jealous? I just…I want him to be more possessive. I tried dropping hints about this but he just shrugged and told me not to overthink!”

“That’s because you are?”

“But Iwa-chan’s never this close to girls back in high school! And now they’re going to themed cafés and clothes outlets and they even have movie nights—wait, let me show you.” Oikawa takes out his phone and goes to Iwaizumi’s Instagram account, clicking on his story. 

It’s a repost of his friend’s story. The both of them are on the floor in front of a projector, which was broadcasting a movie onto a blank wall. The girl is flashing a peace sign at the camera with a candid of Iwaizumi, his eyes trained on the movie. Her caption reads ‘ _@iwajime1 Avengers Endgame is the best MCU movie: change my mind_ ’. Iwaizumi has added his own caption to the repost: ‘ _no, obviously it’s the og Avengers.’_

Personally, Sato doesn’t see anything wrong with this story—Oikawa and Kuroo has done more questionable things than Iwaizumi and this girl— but it seems to bother Oikawa, so he wisely doesn’t say that.

“Hey, let me see that again,” Kuroo says, and Oikawa hands his phone over. Sato watches him click on the story, leading him to the girl’s account. They tag each other in their stories frequently enough for Sato to recognize her, having clicked on her profile before out of curiosity.

“Don’t accidentally ‘like’ anything,” Oikawa warns, but not even a few seconds later, Kuroo suddenly laughs.

It throws both Oikawa and Sato in for a loop. “What’s so funny?”

“This whole situation,” Kuroo wheezes, eyes glassy with tears of mirth. “Oikawa, trust me when I say this: Shirofuku isn’t a threat.”

“You know Shirofuku?” Oikawa asks.

“Oh, sweet summer child,” Kuroo says, a little condescendingly. He thumbs onto her ‘followers’ tab and shoves the phone in front of their faces. At the top of the list, Sato sees that Shirofuku is followed by Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi: her and Oikawa’s mutuals. “Don’t tell me you never noticed this despite all your stalking of her, which I know you did, don’t deny it.”

“I used my stalker account! I didn’t- I never used my main…”

Kuroo scrolls down further to her previous photos, bringing up a photo at Shirofuku’s high school graduation. “She’s a Fukurōdani grad. You’re following her on your main and you didn’t even know that she’s mutual friends with us?” Kuroo asks, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t- how was I- that’s what a _stalker account_ is for, Kuro-chan!” Oikawa’s face burns once more, this time almost turning purple. Sato can’t fault him for that, because he, too, didn’t notice the mutual followers they had.

“B-but that doesn’t mean anything! Just because you know her doesn’t- doesn’t meant that Iwa-chan won’t like her, or that she won’t like him!” Oikawa shrieks, and it’s obvious that he’s trying to deflect his embarrassment. Sato almost feels sorry for him.

Kuroo lets out a long suffering sigh. He gives Oikawa back his phone and brings out his own, going onto Instagram. “I don’t think Iwaizumi told you, and I think I shouldn’t, but if this gets you to stop being so insecure…” He holds up his phone to show a photo of Shirofuku with another girl. They’re both in Fukurōdani’s uniform, and they’re sharing a single cup of ice cream. “This is on her private, and next to her is her _girlfriend_.”

* * *

_Private Chat_

_April 5_

**Kuroo T.**

I’m at the 24h rice bowl place

You want anything? [21:11]

**Sato Y.**

It’s okay, I’m eating with my coworkers. [21:28]

**Kuroo T.**

Oh btw Oikawa finally got his head out of his ass and talked to Iwaizumi.

They disappeared for a moment after practiced ended

And when they came back Oikawa has this dumb lovesick look on his face

Now they’re going back to Iwaizumi’s place together

Five thousand yen says Oikawa comes back limping tomorrow 🍆💦 [21:35]

**Sato Y.**

I did not need that mental image.

But not going to bet against you though. [21:39]

* * *

Omake: Jealous

Oikawa knows he has to talk to Iwaizumi.

He knows, but every time he tries, he either chickens out, or someone else walks in on them, and Oikawa would rather not have an audience.

The opportunity finally presents itself after practice. The freshmen are on cleanup duty, as always, and there are enough of them that they can slip out for a while without being missed.

Determination set, Oikawa leans the mop against the wall. He spots Iwaizumi coming out of the storage room and bee lines towards him, grabs his wrist, and drags him out the gym before people noticed.

“Oikawa, what—”

“Shush.”

They stop at a nook next to the bathroom, where they won’t be disturbed unless someone is actively looking.

Oikawa lets go of Iwaizumi. Now comes the hard part; he knows what he wants to say, rehearsed it multiple times in his head, even. But standing in front of Iwaizumi, being on the receiving end of his soft gaze and understanding smile, Oikawa’s suddenly struck with aphasia.

“Well, are we just going to stand here and look at each other? Or did you have something to say?”

“I. Um. About that day…I’m sorry,” Oikawa says in a small voice. “I made sure to tell her though, that I’m not interested.”

Iwaizumi exhales. “Is that it?” Oikawa tenses in shock. Did Iwaizumi expect a bigger apology? Did he really go too far this time?

Before he can maybe grovel for forgiveness, Iwaizumi continues, “Shittykawa, I’m not mad. If I did every time someone confesses to you or gives you food, I’d probably burst an aneurysm by now.”

Now Oikawa feels even worse that he’d been acting like a jealous brat. The lump in his throat grows bigger, and he swallows. “No, I uh, I knew she was coming, and I let her because I…I wanted to make you jealous,” he tells the floor, unwilling to look at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi shifts. “Make me jealous? Why?”

Oikawa feels his palms sweat. His eyes are still trained on Iwaizumi’s feet as he struggles for an answer. ‘I’m irrationally jealous of the friend you’ve repeatedly reassured me about’ sounds just about right, but Oikawa doesn’t want to start another argument, especially not when he’s trying to apologize for ‘almost cheating on Iwaizumi’, as Kuroo so eloquently put it.

“‘S just me being stupid,” Oikawa eventually mutters.

But Iwaizumi wouldn’t be Iwaizumi if he doesn’t see through Oikawa. “Is this about Shirofuku again? Is that…is she why you’ve been acting weird since a few days ago?”

Oikawa’s skin prickles with embarrassment. “I saw you two studying under the Life Sciences building last week,” he begins. His neck starts to crick, so he focuses on Iwaizumi’s chest instead. “You both fit so well together, and then I started to think…what if Iwa-chan realizes that he l-likes her better? I just got so jealous, and Hasekawa just happened to be there and it’s partly my fault that she thinks I’m interested in her but then Kuroo smmph—” he’s interrupted when Iwaizumi puts a hand over his mouth.

For the first time, he dares to look at Iwaizumi. The other looks irritated, like he’s just about done with this issue; with _him_ — Oikawa definitely doesn’t want that, so he dutifully stays quiet, hoping for the best.

“Basically , you were jealous of me and Shirofuku so you purposely flirted with this woman. But I wasn’t, so you got bothered, then felt bad, so now you’re apologizing. Am I right.” Iwaizumi phrases it as a statement, and Oikawa would be annoyed at how confident he sounds if he wasn’t actually right on the money.

Oikawa gives a hesitant nod. Iwaizumi removes his hand from his face, only to slap him upside the head instead.

“Ow!”

“Trashykawa, how many times do I have to say that we’re only friends?”

“I know that! But friends can easily turn into something more and when you weren’t jealous when Hasekawa came I thought—I thought you didn’t—me—” Oikawa clamps his mouth shut when he feels himself start to tear up.

Damn it, Oikawa was supposed to apologize and promise to be understanding, especially since he’s armed with the knowledge that Shirofuku is _lesbian_ and very much happily taken too. But in the heat of the moment, whatever rehearsed script he had went flying out the window, and his brain-to-mouth filter suddenly decides to take a vacation, leaving him a blubbering mess when he was supposed to be suave.

Oikawa sees his boyfriend sigh, and his heart drops to the floor. He doesn’t give Iwaizumi time to say anything; he quickly clasps Iwaizumi’s hand between two of his, bringing it up to his chest. He doesn’t recall what he says—the words coming out indecipherable even to his own ears—but he registers his blurry vision, the wetness on his cheeks, the heaviness in his chest, and the clawing need to let Iwaizumi know how sorry he is for acting so immaturely.

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi grabs him on the shoulder, gives him a little shake. Oikawa quiets. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m going to break up with you, or something like that, but I’m _not._ Jesus Christ, if I’d known it was about this…look, I’m really close with Shirofuku, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to date her. I’ve liked your dumb whiny ass since a long time. I sure as hell ain’t changing my mind now, or for the foreseeable future, so don’t go pulling this kind of stunt again, you hear me?.”

Oikawa sniffs. When he speaks, it comes out nasally, “so you _were_ jealous.”

Iwaizumi pinches Oikawa’s nose, earning a squawk. “Of course I was? I just don’t get worked up over it. Unless you’re being a dumbass though.”

“So you still like me?”

“Only God knows why.”

Oikawa searches Iwaizumi’s face for any hints of forcedness. He finds none, and his body sags with relief.

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa mumbles, unable to stop his waterworks. He feels like he’s floating on cloud nine, all the previous week’s worries dispelled with the verbal confirmation. He looks at his boyfriend— _his boyfriend!—_ with fondness swelling in his chest, and he can’t help the dopey grin that stretches his lips.

“Come here,” Iwaizumi opens his arms, and Oikawa practically falls into them, wrapping his own around Iwaizumi’s midriff. He buries his nose into Iwaizumi’s shoulder and breathes in the familiar scent, warmth taking over his body like a blanket on a cold day.

“You’re an idiot. You have nothing to be worried about.”

“I know now,” Oikawa answers, heart doing backflips when he feels Iwaizumi lean his head against his own. “You too, you know.”

“Hm?”

“No matter who confesses to me, if it’s not you, I’ll turn them down,” Oikawa says softly.

The tenor of Iwaizumi’s laugh is music to his ears. “Thanks for the assurance, even though it’s obvious that no one else would be able to tolerate you.”

Feeling mischievous, and also in retaliation for that comment, Oikawa lightly bites at Iwaizumi’s neck, then moving to nip at the dip in his clavicle. He suddenly finds himself pried out from the hug.

“We have to go back, the others are probably wondering where we are.”

Oikawa accedes, because although he wants to hug Iwaizumi until kingdom come, there will be consequences if they don’t pull their weight with cleanup. So he settles with draping himself over Iwaizumi, letting the smaller man half-carry him back.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says when they re-enter the gym. When he has Iwaizumi’s attention, he leans down; whispers into Iwaizumi’s ear, “let’s make love tonight~”

He jumps away just in time to avoid Iwaizumi’s swing to his face.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends to lovers is good and all, but friends to lovers getting rich together is such a turn on. Kuroo and Kenma are rolling in dough in canon and I love that more than I should.
> 
> The iwaoi segment of this chapter practically wrote itself lol, I didn’t mean for it to be so dramatic (when in doubt just talk it out!), but I guess I addressed Iwaizumi’s mysterious galfriend, so all is well.
> 
> Also, kuroken climax coming up real soon, so stay tuned.


	16. Kuroo and Kenma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh shut up, if pining was a crime, you’d be behind bars ages ago.”
> 
> “Touché. But at least Iwa-chan’s my boyfriend now,” Oikawa says gleefully, sticking his tongue out at Kuroo. 
> 
> “Hey just you wait, I’m going to go sweep him off his feet! I just gotta wait for the correct timing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello konnichiwa! Sorry for the hiatus, but I was swamped with uni work and obligations ;; 
> 
> Enjoy!

Thunder roars overhead. Rain droplets flick onto Sato with the strong wind as he waits in front of their dormitory building for his roommate. Kuroo said he would be here five minutes ago, but clearly has been held up by the weather.

At long last, a hooded figure rounds the corner. The convenience store umbrella in his hand hangs uselessly under the heavy storm, and when he steps under the canopy Sato sees that even his usually untamed hair droops with the water weight.

“You have it?” Sato asks, opening the empty duffel bag per Kuroo’s behest.

“Yeah,” Kuroo says, slightly breathless with exertion. He unzips his hoodie to show Sato the bundle wrapped underneath, before placing it gently into the empty bag. “It’s safe and sound, just wet. Let’s get it upstairs before we get caught.” 

They manage to slip past the security guard and up to their room without jostling the bag too much, and when Kuroo places it on the floor and unzips it, a orange, furry head pops out.

Sato regards it curiously. He wants to pet it, but refrains from doing so, not wanting to scare it even more. He isn’t good with animals, so he leaves Kuroo to coax it out as he heads into the kitchen.

He fills a small bowl with water, and returns to see Kuroo with his entire body prone on the floor at face level with the bag.

“Should we leave it alone for now?” Sato wonders aloud, looking between the wide-eyed creature and his roommate.

“Nah, it’s not scared, I think. It’ll come out soon. If not we can just wait for Kenma to come with the supplies.”

“So Kenma just happened to have kitten stuff lying around…?”

Kuroo chuckles. “Of course not. When I told him he immediately went to the nearest pet store to get them. He’s on his way here now.”

Sato continues to watch Kuroo sweet-talk the little cat out of the bag. Kuroo seems to be having fun, so Sato returns to his room to resume studying— what he was doing before he was interrupted:

_“Sato, can you grab my sports bag from my room and meet me downstairs at…in like ten minutes?”_

_“What, why? And wait, are you still outside? It’s raining—”_

_“Uh. Long story short, I found a kitten in the drain. No mom around, and yeah that’s why I’m bringing it back to our flat. I can’t just leave—ah shit.”_

_“Are you okay?”_

_“Yeah, it just started pouring all of a sudden, shi—” There was a clatter, like Kuroo had dropped his phone._

_“Hello…?” Sato tries, but then the line went dead._

Sato, despite his less than satisfactory experience with animals, isn’t so heartless as to deny shelter for a baby animal in need, thus the current situation.

He gets more studying done before he hears a conversation waft into his room, alerting him to Kenma’s arrival. It doesn’t take much to convince himself that he’s due for a study break, and he heads into the living area to greet their guest.

“Oi Kenma! You’re soaked! Didn’t you cab here?” Kuroo frets.

“I did. The driver overshot.” Kenma attempts to bat Kuroo away. “It’s only a little bit of rain.”

Kuroo isn’t having it. Being the worrywart (only for Kenma) he is, he pushes Kenma down to sit on the sofa, and unwinds the towel around his neck to dry Kenma’s hair.

“I’m not even that wet,” Kenma mumbles, but lets Kuroo tread deft hands through his wet locks.

“Your shirt is literally sticking to you.” Kuroo says gently fluffs the towel down on Kenma’s back to try to soak up the water. “Sit straighter, it’s not good for your back.”

Kenma mumbles something unintelligible, to which Kuroo laughs. Kenma doesn’t see it, but Kuroo looks at him with such softness, like he would give Kenma the world if the latter would just ask for it. Sato has been standing at his doorway for a good five minutes now, yet the both of them don’t notice him, to wrapped up in their cozy little bubble of each other.

Kenma has his head bent, looking down at his lap. His hands fidget at his sides, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them, and Sato would bet that he’s internally screaming, despite his blank expression. Kuroo is too busy worrying about Kenma falling sick that he probably fails to notice the proximity of Kenma’s head to his abdomen— a light tap and Kenma would plant face-first into him.

Sato half hopes that would happen; no doubt it would be pretty funny.

The kitten meows, directing everyone’s attention to it. It nuzzles against Kenma’s foot, blinking cutely up at him from under the towel, and this is probably the exact moment Kenma falls in love with the kitten.

The paws at Kenma, its little tail wiggling cutely. It’s tinier than Sato thought it would be, and when Kuroo scoops it up to place it on Kenma’s lap, it fits comfortably on Kuroo’s palm.

“It’s…so cute. Kuro, you _have_ to keep it,” Kenma says, turning his golden eyes to Kuroo. His bottom lip juts out slightly in a pout.

_Cute,_ Sato thinks before he can stop himself.

“No, but…the rules…no pets, oh fine. Fine! We’ll keep it.” Kuroo tries valiantly, but one pleading look from his childhood friend crumbles all his arguments. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” Kenma asks, too innocently for it to be genuine.

“When you…you do that _face_!” Kuroo gestures wildly, getting more flustered as Kenma tilts his head in questioning. And when Kenma turns to focus on the kitten, Sato sees Kuroo run a hand through his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but be quiet, you’re scaring it.” Kenma cradles the kitten protectively with his palms, stroking it with his fingers. “Oh, can you pass me the collar? It should be in one of the bags…”

“You bought a collar.”

“Yes.”

“…You had every intention of keeping it from the start.”

“…Maybe.”

“You sly little shit,” Kuroo says without bite. “I thought you don’t like animals?”

“Kensuke grew on me.”

“Ah, the stray that Lev adopted?” Kuroo sighs. “…You’re helping us take care of it though.”

“Of course. No offense, but I don’t trust Oikawa with such a fragile being. Or you, for that matter.”

“Hey now. I am perfectly capable of taking care of it!”

Kenma swivels around to give Kuroo the deadest of deadpans. “You killed a cactus.”

“That’s different! I—that—it was—” Kuroo tries, but ends up almost giving himself a seizure as his face contorts into 10 shades of embarrassment. Kenma looks at him, puzzled.

Kuroo quickly looks away, and that’s when he finally notices Sato.

“Sato! How long have you been standing there!”

It’s an hour later and the kitten is now comfortable enough to wander the living room, exploring every nook and cranny of its new environment. Already, Kenma is smitten with the little one and has taken to affectionately call it ‘Garfield’, much to Kuroo’s disapproval.

“That’s so unoriginal, and it’s a female!”

“Don’t be sexist,” Kenma tuts. “Besides, it’s a ginger, and I don’t see _you_ coming up with a better name.”

Kuroo groans. “At least you didn’t name it ‘Shouyou’, since it’s ginger.”

“Well…” Kenma trails off thoughtfully. He seems to be seriously considering the idea, but Kuroo put his foot down.

“No. We are definitely _not_ naming it after chibi-chan!”

“Or maybe we can name it ‘ _orenji’_? Because it’s fur is…orange…” Sato falters when two unimpressed pair of eyes stare at him. “Never mind, forget I said anything.”

“I don’t want my precious daughter to be named ‘Garfield’!” Kuroo says despairingly. “Or ‘Shouyou’. Anything but Shouyou.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kuro.”

Sato has to wonder since when Kuroo started considering the kitten as his own, when just an hour ago he wasn’t too keen on taking on another responsibility, but he supposed that the little creature is too cute to resist. Even Sato himself warmed up to her after managing to pet her without getting scratched.

“What about _mikan_?” Kenma suggests. “It’s round, small and orange.”

They look at the kitten stumbling over the uneven floor tiles.

“…Maybe we should put its name on hold for now,” Kuroo decides. “We still have to decide if we’re putting the litter box in the genkan or in the bathroom…”

In the end, the litter box is placed in the corner of the living room between the bathroom and Kuroo’s room.

As the three of them debating between the best brand of smell-absorbing cat litter, Oikawa returns. He shakes the water off his umbrella before closing the door.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it was rain—” Oikawa freezes when he sees the newest addition to their household. “Since when did we get a pet?”

“Since this afternoon,” Kenma unhelpfully replies, looking at it with fondness. The kitten has officially wormed its way into both Kuroo’s and Sato’s hearts as well, and Sato isn’t too opposed to keeping it as he had previously.

“No, I mean. Why? If the management gets wind of this, we’re so screwed!” Oikawa says, stopping so he’s looming above them, being the only one standing. “Who brought it back?”

“I rescued it from a ditch. The mom wasn’t around, and it began to rain heavily, so I took it with me. I don’t think we’ll get caught if we don’t invite our neighbors in, since cats aren’t normally loud creatures…I think?”

The kitten meows, as if agreeing with Kuroo. It directs its round, yellow eyes at Oikawa, studying him curiously.

Oikawa softens. He crouches down in front of Kenma and extends a finger at the kitten. The kitten swipes at it playfully—without claws—and Sato’s heart clenches at how adorable it is.

“Aww,” Oikawa coos, scratching the kitten’s chin with two fingers. “I guess we won’t get caught if we’re careful.”

Just like that, the kitten has successfully secured its residence in Room 313, and other than the smell of cat waste in that particular spot of their living area, Sato finds that having a pet kitten—name to be confirmed— isn’t so bad after all. Albeit, that is because he’s not his primary caregiver: that’s Kuroo and Kenma job.

Since Kenma can only drop by their flat so much, Kuroo assumes sole responsibility for the kitten most of the time. Sato finds it cute since, in a way, that kitten is akin to Kuroo and Kenma’s daughter. The kitten also seems to favour Kuroo the most out of everyone, even more than Kenma. Whenever Kuroo returns—even before Kuroo steps through the door— the kitten always seems to know, and will hop over to the genkan to greet his owner with purrs and nuzzles to his ankle.

And Kuroo: he _adores_ the little thing.

“D’you guys think it’s kinda like Kenma?” Kuroo asks them one day over pizza delivery, the kitten lounging on his lap.

“A little, because of its paws, right?” Oikawa says. While the kitten has a nice ginger coat at the expanse of its back and head, it’s chest and four legs are white, the colour changing at the junction between his legs and body. “It’s bi-toned, like Pudding-kun’s hair.”

“Also the eyes. It’s gold, like Kenma’s,” Sato adds.

“That. And also his personality too. When I annoy him too much he literally sulks and walks away, it’s so cute! And oh man he’s such a picky eater too, he only eats _one brand_ of kitten food, so I had to donate the rest to the animal shelter, and also, fun fact, he likes salmon flavored treats the most—”

“Kuro-chan, your gay is showing,” Oikawa says good-naturedly.

“Oh shut up, if pining was a crime, you’d be behind bars ages ago,” Kuroo retorts, having finally gotten his head out of his ass and embraced how he feels for Kenma.

“Touché. But at least Iwa-chan’s my _boyfriend_ now,” Oikawa says gleefully, sticking his tongue out at Kuroo.

“Hey just you wait, I’m going to go sweep him off his feet! I just gotta wait for the correct timing!”

“Hopefully sometime this year,” Sato mutters, but the both of them are too busy bickering to hear him.

*

Sato returns to their flat from a long day at work with yakisoba takeout. He’s mildly surprised to find the living room void of people—and the kitten, since Kenma said he’d be visiting today. However, he figures that they’re probably in Kuroo’s room.

He puts their dinner on the coffee table before going to knock on their doors.

“Oikawa, I’m back!” He calls, and receives a muffled ‘okay’ from the other side.

“Kuroo, Kenma, I’m back!” He repeats.

He and Oikawa help open all the boxes and spread them out on the table, and when Kuroo and Kenma still haven’t come out, Sato decides to go call them again.

“No wait, don’t say anything!” Oikawa says before Sato can rap on their door again. He gets up from the floor, to stand next to Sato. “I think they’re sleeping.”

“Oh, then maybe we shouldn’t disturb…them…” Sato trails off as Oikawa creaks the door open and pokes his head in. “Ooh, Sato, come look!”

The way Oikawa acts, it’s as if Christmas has come early, so Sato’s curiosity is piqued, and he does as he’s told.

He was right.

On Kuroo’s bed, under the orange glow of the sunset, lay two figures wrapped snugly under the duvet. Kenma is mostly obscured by Kuroo’s larger figure, but they can still see tufts of blond hair peeking over Kuroo’s arm. The sleeping duo remain stock-still even as Oikawa and Sato approach them to get a closer view. For once, Kuroo is only using one pillow to sleep—the other currently under Kenma’s head. One of Kuroo’s arms is draped around Kenma’s back, and Kenma is curled up against Kuroo like a feline, a fist curled loosely around the fabric of Kuroo’s T-shirt.

“They’re _cuddling_!” Oikawa squeaks, eyes taking on an excited gleam. He whips out his phone, taking a flurry of photos at various angles like a tourist at an exhibit.

“They must be really tired,” Sato comments. “I’ve never seen Kuroo sleep before two am, ever, unless he pulled an all-nighter the night before.”

“It’s probably because of pudding-chan. Generally, people sleep better with someone they love.” Sato has to admit that there is truth in that statement.

Then Sato spots something in between Kuroo and Kenma’s head, partially obscured by Kuroo’s volleyball-shaped pillow. It’s the kitten, sleeping soundly and comfortably with its bushy tail wrapped around its body, and Sato’s heart absolutely melts at the scene.

After Oikawa manages to take enough photos to rival a photoshoot, somehow not waking up any of the bed’s occupants, they creep out of Kuroo’s room and shut the door as quietly as they can.

And when they see Kuroo the next day before their morning classes, Oikawa makes full use of his ammunition by airdropping Kuroo a whopping 54 photos of just him and Kenma sleeping with the kitten.

It’s amusing to see Kuroo’s face contort into varying degrees of embarrassment and surprise as he swipes through the photos. Oikawa, being the brat he is, also took the liberty to take purposely bad closeups of the two, and Sato is beyond himself with mirth when he sees a zoomed photo of Kuroo’s flared nostrils with a booger inside.

“That’s going up on my story for your birthday this year,” Oikawa tells Kuroo, his tone smug.

“Good thing I have an equally a bad photo of you then,” Kuroo retorts cleanly. “Get ready to have your reputation ruined for yours.”

“You’re both assholes,” Sato says as he watches his two roommates take swipes at each other.

“So have you manned up and asked Pudding-kun out yet?” Oikawa asks on their way to the lecture theatre, after they’ve calmed down. 

“I—um, well, I’m working on it, okay? Don’t look at me like that!”

“Seriously? You have all the confirmation you need, what are you waiting for?”

“I told you, I don’t want him to think he’s a rebound! Just last year he was helping Akaashi set me up with Tsukki, I don’t want to think that I’m dating him just because Tsukki broke up with me and I was lonely or something.”

“You haven’t told him that you liked him since back then?”

“I’m gonna tell him at his graduation. That I like him,” Kuroo says. His lips curve into a soft smile. “Though I was undeniably infatuated with Tsukki last year, so I’m not sure how well he’ll take this. Maybe he’ll think I’m being flakey... that’s why I’m waiting.”

“I don’t know the two very well,” Sato says, “but I think Tsukishima-san and Kenma have very similar qualities. Back then, when you didn’t tell us who your boyfriend was because you were trying to keep it low-key, I thought you were talking about Kenma— even before that I thought you two seemed too close to be just childhood friends. Same for Oikawa and Iwaizumi.”

“Oh, I thought you were dating Pudding-kun too at the start,” Oikawa chimes in. “You didn’t say Tsukishima’s name, and whenever you told me ‘oh my boyfriend did this, said this’, I’d think of pudding-kun, and it just made sense.”

Sato remembers too well the embarrassment he felt when he’s preemptively assumed that Kuroo and Kenma were dating. It’s good to know he wasn’t that off the mark after all.

“Oh, right, I remember,” Kuroo says, nodding. “ I was like, no, me and Kenma _aren’t dating_ , why would you think that.” He laughs. “Never did I think my feelings would be returned though.” 

“Speaking of Kenma, he still sleeping?” Sato asks. He hasn’t seen Kenma at all since yesterday in Kuroo’s room.

“Oh, no, he left super early for school.”

“School? Isn’t he graduating soon though?”

“It’s his last week.” Kuroo says as he mimes wiping a tear. “They all grow up so fast.”

“What are you, sixty?” Sato mutters.

Oikawa grins. “You should be happy that you’re no longer considered a pedophile, now that he’s graduating.”

They push open the doors to their faculty building and head towards their lecture theatre, and the subject of Kenma is dropped when they group up with few friends along the way.

The rest of the week flies by, and Sato almost forgets about Kenma’s graduation ceremony until Kuroo brings it up the day before. Kuroo mentions it so offhandedly that both he and Oikawa take literal seconds to react to it.

“ _Tomorrow?”_ Oikawa screeches.

“Tomorrow,” Kuroo confirms.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier? I had my study schedule planned out and everything,” Oikawa complains. “If it’s in the morning, then I have to tell my group to reschedule the meeting—”

“I did! You guys just forgot.”

Exam season is upon them once more like a truck slamming into a traffic cone, and while Sato recalls that Kuroo _did_ tell them about the date beforehand, his frazzled brain didn’t comprehend that it’s two days before submission day for a huge project.

But it’s okay, Sato reasons with himself. If he pulls an all-nighter today, he can still make it to Kenma’s graduation _and_ finish his work on time for the deadline at 11.59pm that night. It would be rude not to go, since he and Kenma are friends now.

So come Saturday morning, Sato drags himself out of bed with bloodshot eyes, half-heartedly splashes cold water onto his face, and heads out with his roommates to Nekoma High school.

Being a private school, Nekoma High school is considerably well-built. The buildings are well-maintained, the grass freshly cut, and they even have an Olympic sized swimming pool, as Kuroo points out. A large banner hangs along the building’s expanse congratulating this year’s graduates, and there are student volunteers everywhere to help guide visitors to the main auditorium, where the ceremony is held.

Having only graduated last year, it’s no surprise that some of the students come and say hi to Kuroo. Sato spies girls not-so-discreetly eye Oikawa next to him as well, and shakes his head in resignation.

“Ah, youth,” Kuroo sighs as he waves to another of his underclassmen.

“You talk like you aren’t young yourself,” someone says from behind them, turning all three heads towards the source.

“Pudding-kun!” Oikawa chirps, “congratulations on your graduation!”

“Thank you.” Kenma smiles. He steps away from where he was leaning against the pillar, tucks his hair behind his ear when the wind blows across his face. When he looks up, it’s obvious who his attention is on. “Kuro, you—”

“Kuroo-san! It’s been so long!” The person Sato recognizes as Lev yells, overpowering whatever Kenma was saying. He runs toward them full-speed like an overactive dog. “Have you met up with Yaku-san yet?”

“Yaku? Uh, not yet. Let me call him real quick.” Kuroo practically stutters as he pulls out his phone, and even almost drops it. That did not go unnoticed by Oikawa as well.

Oikawa gives Kuroo a long stare, which goes ignored as Kuroo shouts a too-energetic greeting to Yaku on the phone.

“Oh yeah, Kenma-san! Why’re you still out here, you’ll be late for your own ceremony,” Lev says.

Kenma shifts, and fiddles with the hem of his school blazer. “I guess I’ll head there now.”

“Go on, we’ll see you afterwards,” Oikawa tells him with a cheery wave.

Kenma’s eyes flit to Kuroo, who is still talking on the phone. “All right,” he says softly before taking his leave with Lev. Sato watches Lev chatter Kenma’s ears off with sympathy.

When they are gone, Oikawa elbows Kuroo hard in the ribs. “Pussy.”

“R-right, I’ll see you inside then!” Kuroo squeaks into the phone before putting it back into his pocket. He comes face-to-face with two unimpressed stares. “What, I’m nervous, sue me.”

Oikawa lets out a fake sigh. “I feel so sorry for Pudding-kun. Way to make it obvious that something’s up.”

“Shut up, Trashykawa.”

“You don’t need to imitate Iwa-chan! And you’re as trashy as me!”

“You’re definitely trashier.”

“We should head on in as well,” Sato interrupts before their squabbling can progress. “We don’t want to be late, and Kuroo, you can use this time to organize your thoughts.”

Kuroo mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and they follow the flow of the crowd towards the main auditorium.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the beginning of the end! In the next and final chapter we shall finally achieve kuroken happiness :)


	17. “every end is a new beginning”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to officially pull the curtains on his first year in university, and also his stay in Room 313.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter as I wait, with bated breath, for the result of the 2020 US elections.

The graduation ceremony went without a hitch.

They step out into the open to the warmth of the afternoon sun and light spring breeze. Around them, the graduating class are saying their last goodbyes to each other and to the school. Sato looks on the scene with fondness and nostalgia, memories of his own high school graduation resurfacing.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year since our graduation,” Oikawa says, mirroring Sato’s thoughts. They’re both leaning against the wall, watching Kuroo from afar as he catches up with his former team and taking photos of Kenma and the other third-years with their diplomas. The man is vibrating with nervous energy, but it’s covered up by his enthusiasm for his underclassmen; probably only Sato and Oikawa knows, having witnessed him on the edge of a breakdown the previous night.

While Sato sympathizes— it _is_ hard to pluck up the courage to confess to your crush— everyone knows that in no way will Kenma reject him. Even Kuroo himself is aware, having received an ‘unexpected’ declaration of affection half a year ago. But for some reason, the man keeps putting off telling Kenma, even though there are technically no barriers between them, other than their own insecurities.

So even if Sato would rather be in bed paying off his sleep debt, would rather be eating ramen in the stall across the street, he stays on. He patiently waits for the crowd around Kuroo to thin, and for Kuroo to do what he should have done years ago.

Oikawa is more vocal with his impatience, furiously spamming Kuroo in their private chat, which Kuroo ignores. Oikawa does not take kindly to being left on ‘read’.

“Stupid rooster-head. We’d be here all day and even then he might still chicken out.”

Sato looks over Oikawa’s shoulder. “…What are you doing?”

Oikawa grins mischievously, fingers flying over his phone as he types. “I’m giving our dear Pudding-kun a little hint.”

“Should you be meddling in something like this?” Sato says unsurely.

“This will make it go way faster, and it’s time to put an end to this ridiculousness. I also think that Pudding-kun realizes something’s up: he keeps sending Kuro-chan glances.”

At Oikawa’s words, Sato automatically turns to watch Kenma. The man in question is currently being dragged into another selfie by Nekoma’s former ace, exasperation written on his face as he begrudgingly looks at the camera, held by Lev. Sato’s about to tell Oikawa that he’s looking too much into something nonexistent when he sees it as well: Furrowed eyebrows, and a slight tilt of his head to where Kuroo is standing.

It so happens that Kuroo, too, is looking at Kenma at that moment, and what follows is dead-on eye contact, then flustered turns in the opposite direction. Sato could see Kuroo take in deep breaths and wipe his hands on his trousers.

“…I guess you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” Oikawa replies, smug.

After the last round of photos and hugs, the rowdy group of boys naturally break off into smaller groups, and that’s when Kenma finally pulls out his phone. They know that Kenma has read Oikawa’s message when the former sends an inquisitive look over at their direction. Sato sends over an encouraging thumbs up. Kenma gives a small smile in response.

Kuroo is having a chat with his friends off to the side, so he’s caught off-guard when Kenma comes up to his side and tugs on his jacket for his attention. Yaku grins, giving Kuroo a hard slap to the back before moving away to give them space.

“I swear if he doesn’t take this golden opportunity—” Oikawa begins, but he cuts himself off as both he and Sato burst into laughter.

Kuroo stands still, statue-like, his mouth open and closing like a fish as he stares down at something in Kenma’s hand.

Oikawa and Sato edge closer to get a better look, curious as to what could garner such a reaction from Kuroo.

“A piece of metal? Oh my—that’s a _button_!” Oikawa says, practically bouncing on the spot with excitement. “I didn’t know Pudding-kun was such a romantic.”

Sato agrees. This must have taken Kenma so much courage, especially since he’s been rejected once already. Kenma is saying something, and Sato chuckles as Kuroo’s face morph into different shades of embarrassment.

Traditionally, at graduation, a male student will give his second gakuran button to the object of his affections. The second button is one closest to his heart, signifying that he’s giving his heart to the recipient. It’s practically a roundabout confession, and if the recipient accepts it, it means they like him back. Now, even with more schools adopting western-style uniforms, (Nekoma, for one) it doesn’t even matter that the button ‘isn’t close to the heart’; the meaning is there nonetheless.

“So lame,” Oikawa mutters, looking at Kuroo rubbing his hands over his face.

Kenma’s hand is still outstretched, waiting for Kuroo to pull himself together and accept the button, but he’s laughing. It’s loud and unrestrained, with tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he looks up at Kuroo, so soft and tender, it almost blows Sato away.

And Kuroo; he’s also laughing, lips stretched wide and his eyes in crescents. When he finally calms down, he takes Kenma’s hand in his own, and brings it to his lips with his own murmured confession that paints Kenma’s whole face a vibrant red;

And Sato smiles, knowing that from here on, they’ll be okay.

*

Sato dumps the last of his toiletries into the cardboard box and tapes it shut. With a tired sigh, he stands up, cracking his back, to inspect the fruit of his labour over the past day.

Five cardboard boxes lie in front of him, neatly taped and labelled and ready to be transported to storage. Luckily, Sato has their resident Tokyoite to see to that his things get properly picked up by the storage company.

“I’m done! Do I just leave them here?” Sato yells.

Kuroo pokes his head into Sato’s room, makes a noise that sounds impressed. “Yeah leave them. The movers have to come in anyway. Throw away all your garbage though.”

“I will on my way down,” Sato promises.

“Sato is already done?” Another voice cuts through theirs, and Oikawa appears. He’s all sweaty, with his hair is pushed back with clips and dust on his cheeks.

Kuroo grins. “This is the part where I say ‘I _told you you should have started earlier_ ’, right?”

“Shut up, you damn rooster.”

“What about a ‘ _you’re right, Kuroo-san, I’ll listen to you next time_ ’.”

Oikawa bares his fangs at Kuroo, who’s still sporting a shit-eating grin.

Sato snorts. Even up to the last day, his roommates are chaotic as always. “You’re leaving tomorrow, right? You still have time.”

Oikawa crosses his arms. “I thought I’d be done faster, but stupid Iwa-chan refused to help me.”

“Don’t blame him, it’s fun to watch you struggle,” Kuroo says, and earns an annoyed huff from Oikawa. Though, when push comes to shove, Iwaizumi will have relented, because that’s how it always goes.

“Oh yeah, don’t forget that you have to return your key card before 5pm on your stipulated check-out day,” Sato reminds them. He glances at his watch; 4:42pm.

“Right right, the 3000-yen fine. Then you should hurry, are you completely finished?” Kuroo asks.

Sato nods, doing a last cursory check on his room, now in the exact same state he found it back in August last year. He trods over, shuts all his drawers and his wardrobe, and then the window. His heart twinges; the nostalgia is fully sinking in now, with his departure so imminent and real. A lot of memories were made in this room, in this flat, and with his roommates— and it dawns upon him that today will be the last day he calls Oikawa and Kuroo his roommates.

The next academic year, with them being sophomores, it’s no longer compulsory to stay in a faculty-assigned dormitory. Oikawa will be rooming with Iwaizumi on campus in a dormitory equally near both their faculties. Kuroo will be renting a flat outside with Kenma, but is waiting on Kenma’s university choice before he begins house hunting.

And Sato, he’ll be back in this building. Hopefully the room assignment quiz does him well again next year.

He turns to his roommates, and the bittersweetness must have shown on his face, for Oikawa says, softly:

“It’s been fun, guys. Thanks for the past year.”

Kuroo hums in agreement. “Truly. Even though we’re not going to be rooming together anymore, let’s not be strangers, yeah?”

“I’m going to spam our group chat with my beautiful face so you guys don’t forget me,” Oikawa jokes, and Kuroo retorts with a half-hearted ‘waste of my phone memory’.

“We still have the same classes next year, so we can still study and get meals together.” Sato says optimistically.

“Right, we’re going to go over to yours every day, so get ready,” Oikawa tells Kuroo.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re going to have your own place! Obviously it’s going to be better than uni dorms.”

“We’ll be in your care for another year, then,” Sato jokes. He then takes another glance at his watch: 4:50 pm.

He should be heading off now.

“You need any help?” Oikawa offers when he sees Sato pick up his backpack. Sato declines, saying that he only has this one carry-on; the rest of his things are going to storage until the next academic year.

“We’ll walk you down,” Kuroo says, his tone a little somber, and Sato knows his roommates must be feeling the same bittersweetness.

Sato double-checks his necessities and slings the backpack over his shoulder. He picks up the rubbish bags to throw away, and when he finally ambles out to the now bare living area, past the kitchen, then past the genkan, the other two are already waiting outside on the corridor for him, talking in soft tones.

He slides into his loafers, walks out. He shuts the door behind him, and it locks with a small ‘beep’.

“What time’s your departure?” Oikawa asks.

Sato thinks for a second. “7.10 pm.” Enough time to comfortably get to the station and maybe grab a quick dinner.

“Alright. Text us when you’re on the Shinkansen.”

There’s not a lot of people downstairs. While Oikawa and Kuroo greet their classmates and make small talk, Sato walks up to the reception.

The receptionist sees him approach and smiles politely in enquiry.

Sato smiles back, takes out the key card from his wallet and slides it across the counter.

It’s time to officially pull the curtains on his first year in university, and also his stay in Room 313.

* * *

_Omake: lame_

Pride wells up within Kuroo as he sees Kenma approach. He has his uniform on properly for once, his hair is neatly pulled behind in a small ponytail— a _very_ good look on him, in Kuroo’s opinion— and in his hand he holds his diploma.

Kenma is finally becoming an adult.

“Kenma-san! Taketora-san!” Lev’s cheery voice pierces through his eardrums. Their giant middle blocker bounds over to them, gathering the third years in a congratulatory hug. Kuroo snorts when he sees Kenma’s look of horror, but the man lets Lev hang over him nonetheless.

“Lev’s as energetic as always,” Yaku says besides him. Kuroo hasn’t seen the libero in months, but he really hasn’t changed much, even since high school. Kuroo still isn’t sure Yaku has completely forgiven him for hurting Kenma.

“It’s scary to think that after next year, we won’t know anyone from the team,” Kai pipes up, his face smiling serenely in his usual fashion even as he says this.

“Both of you sound like old men,” Yaku complains. “We just have to keep coming back, then they’ll know us. Come on, we’re part of the team that brought Nekoma to nationals for the first time in almost a decade.”

Kuroo looks up at his alma mater, a smile curving his lips. “True, we can’t leave ol’ Nekomata liKe that.”

He can’t thank his high school enough for allowing him to create such good memories with his former team—whom he now considers his second family— and for growing his love for volleyball.

His eyes flicker over to Kenma, briefly. The feelings he harbored for the other man since middle school have only grown stronger, and he’s done a fantastic job at suppressing it, he’s managed to delude even himself that he’s gotten over his best friend.

Then Tsukishima came along, an intelligent, potty-mouthed first year with too much height than he knows what to do with, Kuroo found himself drawn to the blond. In retrospect, Kuroo thinks it’s that Tsukishima’s eerie similarity to Kenma—personality wise— was what partially attracted him to Tsukishima enough to pursue younger outside of volleyball.

His phone vibrates. Kuroo slides it out of his pocket, and upon seeing a flurry of messages from Oikawa, promptly slides it back inside. He knows his roommates have good intentions, but he wants to wait for the most opportune timing.

He reminisces with his friends a little longer, even indulges his juniors some photo-taking. It’s fun getting together with his entire former team like this, and he makes note to organize a reunion sometime soon, maybe at a seafood buffet or a karaoke.

Soon, the team slowly breaks off to meet other friends and go home, and Kuroo’s nerves return, because he really wants to do this today, on this special day. Oikawa told him that worrying over such semantics would only hold him back, but Kuroo maintains that Kenma deserves only the best from him.

He puts his hands in the pockets of his jackets in a bid to appear calm, but inside, his fists are clenching. He listens with half an ear to Kai’s recount of his date with his girlfriend, nodding along at the correct places and appearing engaged, but in his head he’s recalling his speech for his grand confession. First, though, he has to get Kenma alone at the volleyball court, then—

“Kuro.”

Kuroo almost screams in shock when Kenma tugs on his jacket.

“Yes?” He says, his voice wobbling. He wills his heart rate to go down as he looks at the very source of his distress. Kenma looks back up at him with an amused expression. Crap, was he that obvious?

“Aaand this is where we take our leave.” Yaku claps him on the back, hard, almost causing Kuroo to tip forward. “Good luck, Kenma, you’re going to need it, with this turd.”

“You’re supposed to be encouraging!” Kuroo yells back, scandalized. Yaku, that Demon, only laughs in response.

“Good luck,” Kai says, giving him a pat on the shoulder before he and Yaku move away, leaving Kuroo alone with Kenma.

“Um…”

But before Kuroo can even get a word out, Kenma stretches his hand out. For one moment, Kuroo doesn’t understand, but then he sees a glimmer of metal resting on his palm, and with a closer look—

“Kenma. Is that…your button?”

Kenma ducks his head shyly, his cheeks flushed. “…It’s my second one.”

Kuroo could only stare dumbly from Kenma’s hand to his now unbuttoned blazer, and he could only wonder since when he had done this. “You’re giving me your second button?”

Kenma nods, and it’s all Kuroo could do not to combust on the spot, because his soul just died and gone to heaven. He _knows_ what Kenma is trying to convey, and he’s only angry with himself for letting Kenma make the first move. _Again._

He lets out a groan, rubbing his hands against his face. “Why,” Kuroo manages, because he absolutely does not deserve someone as good as the man in front of him, currently baring his heart out to him for the second time.

“I just want to. I know you gave yours to Tsukishima-san at your graduation, and I took inspiration from that.” Kuroo’s mind flashes to last year, and he remembers that, yes, he did give his second button to Tsukishima, his then boyfriend.

“You saw?” He says meekly, because he’s certain he didn’t tell Kenma.

Kenma shifts guiltily, and that’s all the answer Kuroo needs. “You don’t need to feel bad. It’s my fault for looking on. No, don’t apologize, please,” Kenma says, and Kuroo clams his mouth back shut. “I’ve loved you for a long time, it’s not going to go away no matter how many more people you’re going to date in the future. I understand that you just got out of a relationship, so I just want to say that I’m willing to wait for you as long as you need. If—if you’ll have me…”

“No no no, hold up,” Kuroo puts a hand up, while his other hand rubs at his eyes. Kenma’s voice was growing softer and shakier at the end, and he absolutely hates that he’s making the other insecure when that wasn’t his intention at all.

“Kenma, I—” He looks at Kenma, blinking away the moisture from his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I thought— since I was still dating Tsukki—I thought that would make it worse for you, and even after I broke up I was always thinking— ah, shit, why am I crying?” He brings his hand up to his eyes again. Damn his lacrimal glands.

As Kuroo is angrily rubbing away his tears and snot, he hears laughter. He’d recognize that angelic voice from anywhere, and it beckons him to look up again. He’s greeted by one of the rarest, beautiful sights he’d ever laid eyes on, and affection swells in his heart, inflating it until he feels he’s feels as if he’s about to be crushed by its sheer enormity.

“Stop laughing,” Kuroo says half-heartedly, but that only serves to encourage Kenma. Soon, they’re both laughing until they’re shaking on the spot, barely able to stand.

‘ _I’m so lame’_ , Kuroo thinks to himself. His plans for a suave confession are now in tatters, and quite frankly, he’s going to get blackmailed by Oikawa for this for years to come, but then again, if he could make Kenma laugh like that, then perhaps being lame isn’t so bad after all.

Then Kuroo realizes that Kenma is still waiting. His hand is still outstretched, timidly waiting for Kuroo’s answer, and Kuroo has kept him waiting for long enough.

Without hesitation, Kuroo takes Kenma’s outstretched hand in his. That startles Kenma, and their eyes lock for the first time since Kenma approached him. His eyes widen, and his cheeks turn a blotchy red.

Sparks tingle over their point of contact, straight to Kuroo’s heart, and he thinks he might be having arrhythmia. He brings their conjoined hands up, presses the back of Kenma’s hand to his lips.

“I love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s a wrap!
> 
> This fic started out as a silly headcanon and me wanting to try out 3rd person POV. But somehow, it continued on and on until it became a 70k+ word fic. Truly, I didn’t think I had the capability to write anything novel-length. 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who left kudos, especially to those who came back every chapter and left encouragements! Was the ending satisfactory? Did you like Sato’s characterization? Let me know :D 
> 
> I have many Haikyuu wips brewing in the back room, which will hopefully get finished soon. But until then ✌️


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